


A Truth Universally Acknowledged

by wodenRose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Arranged Marriage, BDSM, Bottom Draco Malfoy, F/M, Female Alpha/Male Omega, Femdom, Post-War, Sub Draco Malfoy, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2020-11-05 19:03:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20779817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wodenRose/pseuds/wodenRose
Summary: After the war, the Malfoys manage to escape Azkaban thanks to Narcissa's lie to Voldemort during the Battle of Hogwarts, but they lose everything to crippling indemnities and debts. All of their hope now lies in their Omega son's ability to strike a match with a powerful and rich Alpha.





	1. A Chance Meeting

Arthur Weasley was on his way back to his office from a rather unpleasant budgeting meeting when he spotted what appeared to be a lost muggle wandering the halls of the Ministry of Magic.

A young Alpha woman was dressed in a professional black suit and boots, with blonde hair pinned severely back into a bun, and she was squinting at a small metal tablet in her hand, muttering discontentedly to herself. This had raised Arthur’s suspicions, and he lingered in the hallway to see what she would do next. To his delight, she pulled out a wand, but proceeded to hold it in front of her, pointed towards the ceiling, and commanded, “Find an Exit.”

The wand did nothing.

She muttered curses again, poked and squinted at her tablet some more, then spoke to her wand again. “_Invenire Exitus.”_

Arthur could not contain himself. “Would you happen to be looking for an exit? I work here, and I would be happy to show you. The Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office.”

“Oh!” She smiled at him brightly. “You’re too kind, Mister…”

“Weasley. Arthur Weasley.”

Her accent was American, and her demeanor matched it: She was loud and instantly friendly. “My name is Rose Godwin. I’m afraid I apparated in with a gentleman, and I’m not quite sure how to get out. I’m still becoming accustomed to… England. There’s a whole office for misuse of muggle artefacts? What’s a muggle artifact?”

“Oh, you know. Cars. Spark plugs. Rubber ducks. Still figuring out that last one. I’m actually,” Arthur tried to contain his excitement. “quite interested by your little device. Could I ask what it does?”

“Oh, Mr. Weasley. This… is a muggle’s wand, so to speak. It can do almost anything.”

Mr. Weasley almost swooned in excitement. “What do you mean, anything?”

“Well, just now I was perusing through my personal files, and I translated some English to Latin. And that’s just what I can do when I’m out of network. As soon as I re-enter the muggle world, all the world’s information is at my fingertips.” She tilted the tablet to face him and rapidly began pressing some colorful squares that appeared upon its surface, making Arthur’s head swim. He couldn’t keep up.

“Perhaps… if you’re not in a hurry, I was just about to head into my office for some tea, and you could show me your muggle wand, and then I could walk you to the lobby?”

“Why, Mr. Weasley. You’re making my afternoon. And in the meantime, you must tell me—I was too embarrassed to ask in a conversation earlier—what is a Howler?”


	2. A Cane, a Shirt, and a Cup of Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because as an American, I'm informed that there's nothing more English than aggressively passive-aggressive tea-drinking.

At the same time, Draco Malfoy was washing vomit out of his nightshirt. With his _hands_. If he had money, he would buy a new one, but he didn’t have money anymore. All of the Malfoy estate had been scooped up by the Ministry and various war victim’s families in indemnities and fines. If he was in Malfoy Manor, he would have ordered Dobby to do it, but he wasn’t in Malfoy Manor anymore because Gringotts had seized his home, and Dobby had run off with Harry Potter years ago. If he’d had his wand, he would have spelled it clean, but his wand had snapped and the Ministry had placed a Trace on his entire family. No more money, no more manor, no more magic. Nothing except holing up in a pathetic townhouse off of Knockturn Alley, balancing on the edge of debt and fear and waiting for his next heat to come. Suppression potions were expensive, and they needed to eat. Hence the vomit. His mother had explained this to him gently, and he understood. This was all his fault, after all. His father had been the one to explain _that_ to him.

If Draco hadn’t presented as an Omega near the time of the Dark Lord’s reappearance, he wouldn’t have been able to hold the young man’s safety and welfare like a threat above his family’s head. Otherwise, his father assured him, he would have abandoned the cause long ago. If Draco hadn’t been so weak and ineffective—so Omegan—in carrying out his tasks for the Dark Lord, the Battle of Hogwarts could have swung the other way. Things would have been different. They could have gone on living normal lives.

Draco didn’t dare venture outside these days. He used to love that everyone knew who he was. They whispered his name under their breath when he swept through Diagon Alley. Now this was a curse. He wasn’t just a Death Eater, he was the only Omega Death Eater, and he couldn’t imagine the shame he would bring on his father if he went and got himself raped. And he had no doubt that any one of those worm eaters out there would do it. It had always felt like the Malfoy family against the world, but now… it really was. His father could get by with a few jeers and some spitting. His mother got the least of it, because everyone knew she lied to save Harry Potter. That was the only reason they weren’t all rotting in Azkaban, along with all of his parent’s friends that used to come over for Christmas parties and sit on the back patio, sip firewhiskey, and reminisce about the trouble they used to make in school, before everything became what it did.

As if the thought of his father could summon the man, Lucius Malfoy burst in the doorway, red-faced and pouring off rivulets of Alpha anger. Draco couldn’t help it: He froze and cringed, his hands still in the sink with the vomit-shirt. At the sight, Lucius’ lip curled in automatic disgust, and then a change came over him. He looked very tired, his shoulders dropping, and he leaned his now-hollow cane up against the wall to bring his hands up to his eyes. “You will bring me no end of trouble, will you Draco?” This was obviously not a question Draco was meant to answer, because he promptly turned on his heel and stomped into the hallway, calling for his wife with a loud bark. “Narcissa! You wouldn’t believe the _insult _to our family name…” Draco’s mother appeared in the hallway and latched onto his father’s arm, steering him upstairs to their bedroom and privacy. No matter what Draco did, he seemed to inflame his father’s anger, but at the mere sight of his mother he would soften and quiet. Draco supposed that was what being an Omega was all about. He was, evidently, a pretty shitty Omega. Draco went back to rubbing the nightshirt between his knuckles. How in the hell was he supposed to make this white again?

“And I said no! The idea is anathema—”

“And then what, Lucius? Where will we go? What will we do? How are you going to take care of this family?”

Draco had never heard his mother yell before. And he had certainly never heard her yell at his father. Ever.

“We’ll find someone else. Anyone else.”

“We’ve been looking for months. There isn’t anyone else. It would solve everything, Lucius. Everything. The debt is adding up and I…”

His mother broke down into sobs. The walls of their townhouse were thin, and Draco could swear that he could hear his father’s panicked breathing as he held his mother close. More muffled conversation. Draco wasn’t sure what their argument was, but his mother was clearly winning. Questioning an Alpha’s ability to care for his family was, Draco thought cynically, pulling out the big guns.

His father flew down the stairs and came to a hurried halt in the kitchen. He searched wildly around the room for his cane before picking it up and putting it down, once, twice, and addressed Draco without looking at him. “Your mother is going to speak with you. I have business in town.” As if it were the old days and he were still a man with business to attend to. With that, he opened the door in a swirl of snow and was gone.

His mother entered the room soon after, and gently took the shirt out of his hands. “Let’s let that soak for a minute, dear. I’ve heard that can help.”

“What was all of that about?”

“Your father makes it sound like the end of the world, but that’s just his pride. You know how he is. He doesn’t like to accept help. Actually, I’d like you to think about this as very good news. Sit down, I’ve nearly perfected making tea.” She busied herself with a copper kettle.

After a few minutes, Draco curled his hands around a steaming cup of chamomile and regarded his mother suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “It didn’t sound like anything good.”

She took a sip from her own and set it down gingerly on the table. “We don’t have much left, Draco. But the Malfoys are an old Wizarding family. We still have a few irons in the fire. Well. One iron. Our family has a seat in the Wizengamot.”

“But we’re all disqualified from holding office. They’re assigning it to someone else.”

“We’re all individually disqualified, dear. But if you were to marry, your Alpha would occupy the seat.”

Draco’s blood ran cold. He set his mug on the table and stared at it. Silence filled the room, and he willed his mother to say something—anything. Eventually, he croaked, “You’re selling me off.”

“Darling—no, never—”

“You’re going to sell off the Wizengamot seat, and they’re going to pay some fucking egregious dowry, and everyone’s going to know that you sold me off like a whore to pay off our debts.”

“It’s not like that and you know that, Draco!” His mother raised her voice again, then her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “Listen to me, dearest. In a few months, we will no longer have a place to live. Do you understand?”

Draco refused to look at his mother in the eyes, staring angrily at the sink, where his vomit-shirt floated, tauntingly still stained.

“I won’t force you to marry anybody. But this Alpha has a lot of promise, Draco. She’s young, your age. From America. Motivated, wealthy…and she bought Malfoy Manor.”

He snapped his gaze back to his mother. “She what?”

“She bought Malfoy Manor in the foreclosure auction. She’s offered to give it back to us. She’ll furnish it and fix it and everything will be just as it was.”

“You can’t possibly believe that.”

“Apparently, she’s put it in writing. No matter what happens, we’ll have her hands tied with the law. She’ll have to take care of you no matter what.”

“And pay a stipend to you and father.”

“She seems like a nice young lady, Draco. I wish you would just agree to meet her.”

Draco looked down at his knuckles, rubbed raw and pink. He now understood his father’s exhaustion. Everything about their life now was exhausting. The little indignities wore them down, day after day, and here was an easy way out. All Draco had to do was lie back and spread his legs and let this mysterious Alpha take care of everything. “Why doesn’t father want me to marry?”

“Pardon me?”

“If the Parkinsons had made this offer I’d already be in a white dress. I’m sure he’d be happy to not have me around, making life difficult all the time. So there must be something wrong with her.”

“Don’t say that about your father. He loves you, he just… doesn’t always know what to say.” His mother paused for a moment, looking deep into his face. “You’ve grown up too quickly. You should be an old married man before you become so guileful.”

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She brought up one hand to his cheek and stroked it through his hair. “She’s a muggle-born.”


	3. Tea, Cont.

Arthur Weasley burst in the door of his home with a young Alpha woman in tow, the two of them giggling like children. What with all of the children moving out, the house hadn’t been this loud in… well, forty-eight hours at least. They still came back to see their mother, she made sure of that.

Molly Weasley raised her eyebrow and dried her hand on a towel. “And who is this?” In the years after the war, Molly had become tougher and more suspicious. Now that their family was hero-worshipped as members of the Order of the Phoenix, clingers-on sought a taste of power and fame, and a few “tell-all” articles had appeared about them in the Daily Prophet. While she loved her Alpha very dearly, she knew that he tended to be naïve and trusting, perhaps too much so.

The young woman took a gasping breath and dipped her head in acknowledgement. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley! Your husband, may I say, is the smartest wizard that has ever lived!”

“Oh, is that so?” Maybe she was all right, then.

“Oh, yes! Have you read his treatise on muggle clothing of the last three decades? Even I learned something… In fact, he was just telling me about his theory regarding socks.”

“Rose isn’t just a muggle-born,” Arthur beamed. “She went to muggle _school._”

Molly, with a wave of her wand, heated up Arthur’s cold cup of tea and set about brewing another one for their guest. Despite her suspicions, the girl’s warmth was infectious, and her husband was terribly excited. “Muggle school? Now what do you learn there?”

“Oh, you know. Math, Literature. My mother counts on me to run the family business, so I couldn’t just up and disappear into the wizarding world. I can get a little lost sometimes, but I’m lucky that kind people like you are willing to help me out. I never would have found my way out of the Ministry without Mr. Weasley helping me. About the only thing I’ve figured out is the Floo network. Even I can’t mess it up!”

“You’d be surprised. One of our son’s friends mispronounced the name of Diagon Alley, and he was sent to the completely wrong street, and inside of a shop no less!”

“That’s so interesting! Do you think Floo powder accounts for accents? Do you use different powders for different languages?”

Molly set down a steaming up of tea in front of her houseguest. “What a silly question! Of course it doesn’t matter which language you speak. Floo powder is floo powder. But I can tell that you and Arthur are going to get along like peas in a pod. What were you doing in the Ministry? I don’t go there unless I can’t help it. Too crowded by far.”

“Oh…” Rose looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I tried to conduct some business, and the Ministry was the meeting point for both of our lawyers to look over a contract. But my partner obviously wasn’t pleased, and he stormed off, and then I was stuck.”

“How awful! You poor thing. And look at that… it’s getting dark. You must stay for dinner.”

“Why, Mrs. Weasley! I couldn’t impose on you like that!”

But Molly recognized the polite protests of someone who would, very much, like to stay for dinner. She dismissed Rose’s worries and sent along the two Alphas to pick apart machines in the garage. As they walked toward it, she saw their heads bent together in conspiratorial glee.


	4. Three Alphas Misuse A Library

Mr. Weasley was forced to work in the Ministry library that morning, as a cursed pair of shoelaces was currently flying around his office, strangling anyone that dared enter. He had thoroughly busied himself in writing a paper on the apparent effects of muggle “pesticides” when accidentally used in potions, when his heart leapt at the sound of a familiar voice and the smell of fresh bread, and he correspondingly leapt to his feet.

He had to admit that Molly and himself had grown a bit lonely with a quiet house—well, as quiet as it could be with the ghoul rattling around on the fourth floor—and it felt like having a daughter again, albeit one that came over twice a week or so. Rose didn’t mention her parents very much, but both he and Molly had agreed that they were experiencing a déjà vu of sorts after having helped to raise Harry. She startled at hugs, appeared grateful for even the slightest affection, and took great pleasure in the simplest details of domestic life, generally making the Burrow feel like a palace. She also remained politely cryptic about her family’s business and why it took her so frequently into the Ministry, usually taking the time to drop by Arthur’s office afterwards for tea and with an offering of fresh pastries in tow. Arthur was a patient man, and he knew that people needed time.

He was about to open his mouth to call out in a manner that surely would have earned him another talking-to from the librarian, but then he caught a glimpse of dark robes and silver hair. _Lucius Malfoy?_ Arthur ducked behind a bookshelf and unrolled an Extendable Ear that he was pretty sure Molly didn’t know about.

Rose’s cheerful demeanor remained unwavering up to the moment she stopped in front of the bastard, and the air positively charged with a contest for dominance between two very riled Alphas. She brandished her basket of pastries. “Mr. Malfoy. I hope your family is well? I made these myself, accounting for your latest round of complaints. They have no fruit, no nuts, no chocolate, my puff pastry is sourced from France—”

“I will never,” Malfoy responded coldly. “Touch your filthy food. Especially if you made it.”

“Well since I’m going to fuck your son, I figured we could use some social… lubricant. In pastry form.” Her smile unwavering, she held up the basket to eye level, somehow managing to make the gesture look menacing. “Everyone likes pastries. Yum, yum.”

“I am still considering my options.”

“Yes, well, you’ve considered yourself into running two months behind on rent. Face it, Lucius, nobody else wants to marry your son. The old pureblood families that weren’t charged after the war already have Wizengamot seats, and the half-blood families with enough money or influence to snap one up have already exhausted their favors battling it out for the Carrow, Dolohov, and Yaxley seats. Everyone here is too hurt, and the pain is too fresh for them to mate with an Omega with a skull and snake on his arm. You need an outsider, and nobody’s offering you a better deal than I.”

“How _dare_ you attempt to make demands. You should be grateful that I’m even seeing you.”

“Oh yes, I’m so _grateful_ to have to wade through the hellpit of the Ministry every day because _you’ll_ get kicked out of every private establishment from here to Russia, and you won’t let me in your _damn_ house, to whisper like a bunch of _schoolkids_ in a library and listen to you tell me how _filthy_ my blood is and that you need more time to _think_. We’ve done this six times, Lucius, and I’m losing my goddamned patience. I’m not a monster. I want to meet your son before we mate. But if you wait until you’re being dragged into the Ministry for bankruptcy, you’ll be submitting your own son to a shotgun wedding. That’s you, Lucius. Not me. You.” She hissed out these last words with such violent rage that to Arthur she seemed transformed into a completely different woman, like a Veela reverting to her fiery true form. “I wanted to do this right. I wanted to take him out for dinner, to give him gifts, to introduce him to my family—”

“Our bankruptcy hearing,” Malfoy muttered quietly. “It’s in two weeks.”

Rose looked stunned. “What?”

“The Thursday after next. So I guess you get what you want, mudblood. But we will be having a wizarding wedding.”

“Of… of course.”

“I will arrange for you to meet my son tomorrow. Come to my address at exactly five o’clock.”

“I will.”

“And if I think for one moment that you will abuse or disrespect my son, the whole deal is off. I don’t care what the consequences are. He doesn’t deserve… any of this.”

“… I know.”

And with that, Lucius Malfoy exited the library. Rose stood there, staring blankly at her basket of pastry. After several seconds, she slid down the end of a bookshelf onto crossed legs and then sat there for a minute longer, breathing heavily. Then she got up, turned mechanically, and dropped her basket when she bumped into Arthur Weasley.

“Rose,” he said, peering at her with the look that only the most paternal and disappointed of men can muster, “I expect there’s a _very_ good explanation for this.”


	5. Twice In One Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To sanguia, anotherdirtycomputer, and Rai: Thank you so much for the comments! I really appreciate them, even thought I haven't responded... I often find that I just don't know what to say.
> 
> Did anyone else watch Gone With the Wind as a kid?? Cheek pinching? No?

“You’re hiding from Draco.”

“I am not a man known to hide.”

“And yet, here you are.” Narcissa combed her fingers through her husband’s hair as he sat on the edge of their rickety iron bed, staring blankly at his lap. “You should talk to him. He’s terrified. His future Alpha is coming this afternoon.”

“I find that matters of Omegas are best left to Omegas themselves. If I interject with my opinion, I will only make things worse. He needs you right now.”

“A feeble excuse. I’ve been reassuring him all month. Lucius… He’s ashamed.”

“Well, I hardly think he should be _proud._”

“I think he should be proud. He’s sacrificing himself for our family. For us. But he won’t believe me, because for some reason it seems the only person he cares about making proud is you.”

That was a slap in the face. He looked up at Narcissa and she looked back at him coolly. “Fine. But that’s the second time I’ve taken orders today. You ought to know that.”

Narcissa smiled slightly and kissed his cheek. “Twice in one day? It seems Draco isn’t the only one worthy of pride.” She nudged him in the ribs and he begrudgingly rose from the bed and started into the hallway.

He reached Draco’s room after a few steps and, after a few moments gathering his thoughts, he knocked and, without waiting for a response, entered. When had his son begun to flinch every time he entered the room? He’d like to think it was the fault of his presentation, but Lucius knew it started before that.

Draco was sitting on the only open patch of floor in his closet-sized bedroom, the rest strewn with wrinkled clothes, open books, and blankets. After his customary cringe and recoil, he hurried up, smoothing down the nightshirt that he lived in these days and began hastily putting things to right. After a few moments, his line of sight dared to creep up as far as his father’s knees. “I was just cleaning up, Father, I swear—”

Lucius leaned over and awkwardly patted his son on the shoulder. “Stop, Draco. Sit with me on the bed.”

Draco gingerly placed his armful of miscellanea back on the ground and joined his father on the bed.

“I spoke with your mother.”

Draco stared somewhere about six inches below and to the left of Lucius’ eyes.

“For Merlin’s sakes, Draco, look at me. I realize that I have not been as… grateful as I could have been in the face of this admittedly tragic event. So I am here to say that I am proud of you, and what you are doing for the Malfoy legacy and the future of our line. Now, as you know, your future mate will arrive at five. Clean this up and put on something presentable. Do you still have those green robes?”

“We sold them, Father—_thank you—”_

“You’re a twenty-year-old Omega. Don’t you have any… cosmetics?”

“…No, Father.”

“Well… pinch your cheeks or something. You have two hours. Narcissa!”


	6. This Is Business

Arthur morosely chewed on a homemade croissant while Molly gave Rose a thorough dressing down in their kitchen. The fact that the delicious treats he had been receiving for months were actually intended for Lucius Malfoy made them somehow less sweet. But they were still pretty good.

“Married! That was your business? Getting married to a _Death Eater_? What were you thinking, child? You don’t know those Malfoys like I know them. The next thing you know, we’ll find you face-down in the Thames—”

“--Mrs. Weasley—”

“And what do you want a Wizengamot seat for? You’re… what, twenty?”

“Twenty-three. Ma’am.”

“Twenty-three! Well, Merlin help us if we’re about to be governed by the _wisdom _of a child at the ripe old age of _twenty-three_! Don’t you have a family business to run back in…”

“Texas…Ma’am.”

“Texas!” Molly’s breath heaved, and she turned toward her Alpha. “Arthur! Stop eating her… bribery croissant and support me!”

“Your par’nts musht be w’rried shick.”

“Mrs. Weasley… Mr. Weasley. This _is_ business. My mother has greenlighted this arrangement. Everything I do, I do it for my family.” Although she had been backed up against the kitchen counter, Rose drew herself up to her full height and looked Mrs. Weasley in the eye. “Marriage is a transaction. And I know what I’m doing. A seat in the Wizengamot will serve our family for generations and allow us to expand our business into the untapped market of the wizarding world. This is not an opportunity that I will allow to pass by.”

Arthur swallowed the last of his croissant. “What exactly does your family do, again?”

Molly broke Rose’s gaze and backed away. When she finally spoke, her words came out in a quiet snarl. “Those monsters killed my son. If you’re throwing in your lot with them, you can get out of my house.”

Rose visibly blanched. “… Your son?”

“If it weren’t for them, he wouldn’t be dead. That little bitch let all the _other _Death Eaters into Hogwarts, where they _killed my son_. You want to stand here and talk about money? Get out of my house. I don’t want to see you here.”

Rose bowed, quietly and formally, to Mrs. Weasley, and left through the kitchen doorway without another word.

Arthur shot Molly a Look and followed her out. “Rose, you can’t go anywhere. The fireplace is inside.”

Rose stopped, groaned, and put a hand up to her forehead. “Ugh. I took the Floo… how long a walk is it to the nearest town?”

“Just come back inside, you’ll freeze without a proper coat. I’ll talk to Molly.”

“Why don’t you hate me too?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m going to marry someone directly responsible for your son’s death. But you don’t even seem upset.”

“Well, I still don’t think you should marry a Malfoy. But the boy’s mother saved someone very dear to us, and I’ll always be thankful for that. We can always hope that he takes more after her. I also heard his testimony in court when he was tried after the war.”

“You did?”

“All of the Ministry heads came. He was technically a Death Eater, after all. The ones that weren’t on trial, at least. I knew a lot of grown alphas that caved under the pressure, kept their heads down and did what they were told when the Dark Lord took over, and none of them went to Azkaban. While I hardly approve of him, I can see that he was an omega and a child, caught way in over his head.”

“The wizarding world seems to be a small one. Everyone’s related, or they have a blood feud, or both… It’s not too different from the muggle world, actually.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with those purebloods. Come back inside, and don’t leave, I’ll talk to Molly and calm her down. You’ve had a long day.”

Rose waited outside the kitchen door while Arthur and Molly argued and finger-wagged, before sheepishly coming back in when Mr. Weasley opened the door.

Molly sniffed and stirred her pot of soup aggressively. “I still don’t approve, you know. But I’m not kicking you out to the wolves without dinner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley… did you say dinner? What time is it?”

“It’s looking to be about that time. Oh, almost five o’clock now.”

“Almost five! I’m so sorry, Mrs. Weasley but I’ve got to—” Rose scrambled to the sink and scrubbed some water on her face, then tucked some flyaway hairs back into her bun. “Is my suit straight? Am I missing anything?”

“You look fine, dear—”

“I’ve got to be in Knockturn Alley!” Before she ducked into the fireplace, Rose turned around and fidgeted with her cuffs one last time. “I know you probably won’t come, but… you of course have an invitation. To the wedding. It’s going to be soon, and I don’t know anyone else in town… Look for an owl!”


	7. The Meeting

“She’s late.”

“Well, maybe that’s a good thing. You were just complaining that you weren’t ready yet.”

There were many things that the Malfoys had given up, but Draco’s mother continued to buy makeup. When Draco had pointed this out when they sold his broomstick, his father had replied that there were some things that an omega simply must have and that a broomstick was not one of them. Now the oh-so-important makeup was delicately painted onto his face by his mother, and when he looked in the mirror, Draco felt that he hardly recognized himself. The most omegan robes he owned were a drab light grey, but they showed his collarbone and neck. His hair, which he used to slick back with gel, was now left loose and curled softly around his ears. He had lost weight, especially muscle, and it made his eyes and lips look bigger even before his mother accentuated them further. The strange creature in the mirror looked waifish and weak, but also alluring and adult, almost obscene. For the first time in a while, Draco didn’t feel like a child.

“Mother?”

“You can speak, but don’t move or I’ll have to wipe this eye off and start over.”

“Did Father ever spank you?”

Narcissa’s hand jerked, and she cursed, dabbed at his eye with a rag, and continued. “Oh, not in years. Not as a punishment, at least.”

“_Gross_.”

“You did ask, dear. But yes, he did. You’re getting married, Draco. You’re an omega. She’s an alpha. It’s just the way of things. In whichever way she deems fit to punish you, she may.” She kissed him on his temple. “Keep your chin up. I’m sure she’s a reasonable young lady. But especially in the beginning, you need to take time to adjust to each other.”

“It sounds like I’m going to be the one doing all the adjusting.”

“I’m sorry, Draco. We’re omegas. It’s what we do. Don’t think about the bad things—think about all of the lovely times you’ll have together.”

Suddenly, Draco stopped feeling like an adult again as a long future with a mudblooded stranger flashed before his eyes. He clutched his mother’s hand close to his face and felt tears begin to well behind his eyes and his throat close. “I don’t want to leave you and Father. I’m n-not ready.”

“No omega is ready for their wedding night, my love. Just ready enough. You are brave, and strong, and we are both so proud of you. Now you must really keep your chin up, because I need to start again on your eyes.”

Just then, they head a knock on the door and Draco’s heart leapt out of his chest. Narcissa cursed again and dabbed at his eyes some more. “There. That will have to do. Come along, she won’t like to be kept waiting!”

Walking down the stairs to meet his future alpha, Draco had never been so aware of his posture, where he put his hands, the feel of fabric on his skin. The first thing he saw was his father, angry as usual, scolding her for her timing. Then she came into view, and he stopped on the fourth stair.

She was probably handsome, he supposed. There was nothing immediately wrong with her, at least, except her bloodline of course. She wore nothing but a plain black suit and boots, no silver embroidery, no canes or rings. She was supposed to be rich, but she just looked like she could be some nameless apprentice carrying messages through the halls of the Ministry. What distinguished her was that she looked utterly unintimidated by her father’s rage and was smiling cheerily as she ignored him.

“Did I not say five exactly?”

“Your home is so centrally located. Just two turns from Diagon Alley! It must be terribly convenient.”

Narcissa brushed past Draco and launched herself into the conversation. “Oh, yes! All my errands are just a few blocks away these days. Have you been to Flourish and Blotts’ yet, Miss Godwin, or has my alpha tied you up in lawyers so thoroughly that you can’t leave the Ministry?”

The alpha bowed and kissed his mother’s hand with a smile. “I dare say he has tried his best, Mrs. Malfoy. However, just looking at your son reassures me that every minute has been worth my time.”

While Draco flushed and wished to shrink into a tiny ball of nothingness, his mother appeared unfazed. “Isn’t that nice. Draco, come down and sit with Miss Godwin.”

Eventually, all four of them settled around the room. Because there was only one couch, the two alphas ended up in wooden chairs brought in from the kitchen at Rose’s chivalrous insistence. While dressed in formal clothing, there was something innately disheveled about her. Her hair escaped from its bun, her jacket had creased at some point over the day, she had unbuttoned her cuffs and her boots were scuffed and worn. She draped herself over the kitchen chair as if it were a throne. Through all this, Draco could see that, for all her casual demeanor, Rose had been gob-smacked when he entered the room and would not stop flicking her eyes over towards him in fleeting glances. Was it because he was pretty, or ugly? He found himself tucking his hair behind his ears, adjusting the too-low collar of his robes, worrying about his almost-certainly smudged eyeliner.

“Draco, what do you think?”

Draco snapped out of his reverie at his mother’s question. “Pardon me?”

“We were deciding on wedding venues.”

“Oh. Well… I suppose I always imagined I would get married at Malfoy Manor. It’s hard to imagine anywhere else.” It was hard to imagine at all, but he didn’t add that.

“I’m afraid our home still needs to be furnished, and I fear it won’t be ready in a week and a half. I’ve called upon some venues but I’m afraid they were all full…”

Lucius sneered. “All full. Preposterous.”

“Why don’t we have it at Malfoy Manor?” Rose interjected. “It would simply be an outdoor wedding. We could lock the doors, set up a canopy, and replant the gardens, and no-one need to know that the house is empty inside. If we start now, it will be ready in a week’s time. In fact, if Mr. Malfoy and yourself would send me the plans for how you wish your replenished garden to look before I leave today, I’ll ensure that work begins tomorrow morning.”

Narcissa put her hand over Rose’s, while Lucius looked like he might physically vomit at the reminder that Malfoy Manor was not, in fact, their home anymore. “Oh, that’s _so _kind of you. And Draco’s wedding dress…?”

“It would be my pleasure to take care of it.”

“And the flowers? The food? Invitations?”

“I wouldn’t dream of allowing anything else. It will be taken care of. Just send me the bills by… owl, I suppose.”

“Lovely! Lucius, why don’t we go draw up some plans for the garden while these two young people enjoy some time together?”

And just like that, Draco’s mother sacrificed the safety he found in her supervision in exchange for paying off their wedding expenses. Lucius threw a dirty look over his shoulder but allowed himself to be corralled upstairs. With that same unwavering grin, Rose moved to the couch and managed to take up an entire half of it. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Draco.”

“Oh, come on, drop the act. I’m not my mother, and I don’t put stock in it.”

Rose’s smile, finally, mercifully twisted into something smaller and more bitter, and she passed a hand over her face. “Huh. Well then, I won’t bullshit you. But I’m sure you have questions, and since we’re going to be joined in eternal matrimony, I really did think it would be nice for us to get to know each other.”

“What else is there to know? You get the Wizengamot seat, and I don’t live in a fucking hovel. I’m just the bonus that you’ve won in your sick game.”

She laughed out loud. “A naughty word for a well-bred omega such as yourself! Oh, please don’t be mad, you know I don’t mean that.” She got up and began pacing around the couch like a predator, her eyes never wavering from Draco. “I think we should give being friends the old college try. Who knows, maybe you’ll like me.”

Draco watched her as she paced. Was she this intimidating on accident, or was it on purpose? She moved slowly, confidently. He could see the cut of her rumpled suit following her body, the way her hips moved, the way her bootheels _thunk_ed slowly across the floor. She was in no hurry. She knew he wouldn’t dare move. Against his will, he felt the temperature rise in his cheeks and his heart begin to beat out of his chest. He needed to ask a question, quickly, before this stare-down went any further. “What does your family… do?”

“A little of this, a little of that. Oil, manufacturing, private security, distribution rights, staple foods. That’s what I want to sell to the wizarding world. I’ve been able to do this somewhat—I’m paying my contract with your father in Galleons after all—but it’s all been through Russia and the exchange rate is a _travesty_.”

“Staple foods?”

“Yes, like rice and bread. It seems like food is the only thing you wizards can’t conjure out of thin air, and muggles produce it much more cheaply.”

“I suppose it makes sense.” Talking about bread was terribly unsexy, and it had cooled them both down a bit. Draco continued asking questions. “And where were you from in the United States, again?”

“Texas, the west of it, alongside a river. It’s the most beautiful place in the world.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Well, you know what it’s like. There’s no place like home.” That stung Draco’s pride, but she kept talking before he could respond. “The stars… it’s like nothing you’ll see in England. The whole sky stretches out like a dome, and you can see every shade of blue coming into purple, and the milky way rising and falling in the sky. I miss it.” Then she came back to herself. “Of course, it functions as more of a home base. My family travels a great deal, both for business and pleasure. Do you enjoy travelling, Draco?”

“I can’t say I’ve done much of it. Not outside of Europe.”

Draco’s parents re-entered the room, garden plans in hand, and he felt he had never been so grateful to see them. He wanted to cling to his father’s leg like a toddler and hide under his robes. Rose moved back to her kitchen chair and addressed his parents. “Draco was telling me he hasn’t travelled much, while my childhood was practically nomadic. I was thinking that he may enjoy choosing the location of our honeymoon.”

He could see his father’s face twist up in disdain, to tell Rose that he didn’t want any more of her money and that he was ready for her to see herself toward the door, but his mother cut in one final time. “We would be delighted. We’ll go to Flourish and Blott’s to look at travel guides tomorrow. In fact, Rose, why don’t you come with us?”

Rose stood, bowed, and Draco could see that her pasted-on smile had returned to her face. “I would be delighted.” Before he even realized what was happening, she had kissed his hand and his mother was walking her out the door. He stared in horror at his sullied knuckle. When he looked up at his father to gauge his reaction, Draco could see that he had already left the room.


	8. Flourish and Blotts'

Rose trailed a few feet behind Draco and Narcissa. Draco clung tightly to his mother’s hand and tried not to look people in the eye. Already in the fifteen minutes they had walked to the bookstore, someone had risen to confront them twice, and Rose had positioned herself to block their path, put on her Bullshit Smile, and menaced them away. These two omegas had an alpha protecting them. Of course, she couldn’t cast a spell to save her life, but they didn’t know that, and at the very least she could throw a mean punch.

She was not a romantic. She had walked into this marriage utterly uncaring whom, exactly, she was going to be marrying. This was going to be her chance to distinguish herself to her mother as a worthy heiress to Gibson Industries in her own right, without interference from the silver-tongued executive council or her ever-meddling extended family. They were all No-Maj, and any successes here would be attributed to Rose and Rose alone. Just the thought of it put a spring in her step.

Her mother had always warned her that she must not underestimate the power of an omega. Rose’s father had broken her heart when Rose was young. He stole, he cheated, he lied, he drank himself into oblivion, but then he would croon and beg and steal her mother’s breath away with romantic gestures until it happened all over again. Her mother was a leader of alphas, respected and feared, but at home she had crumbled, and Rose had learned to make sure she had three meals a day and her homework was finished and her little brother put to bed at a reasonable hour. Her parents lived halfway across the country from each other now, with their respective lovers. But Rose never forgot. She had always laughed at other alphas that growled and postured and spent endless nights fretting about their subs in a frivolous show of their irrelevant hindbrain.

She had not expected to be so won over by a nervous, proud omega in ill-fitting robes. An omega with a criminal history, who likely considered her an inferior subspecies. He was nothing like her father. Her father drifted from town to town, uprooting himself at the slightest conflict and moving on to new friends and lovers. This boy… this man, she reminded herself, stood by his foolish family through terror and war, and now was submitting to a stranger’s ownership—_her ownership_\-- to save them. She had only known him for a short time, but she had already caught herself envisioning him as a fine mate, thinking about what kind of collar she wanted him in, dreaming about biting down on the creamy skin of his neck. She had hardly been able to contain herself the previous night, and had leapt up to pace to suppress the urge to reach forward and grab him and… and…

Once they reached the bookshop, Rose could not have been more disappointed by the travel section. Apparently, wizards did not travel much. They depended on a network of knowledge in their home country to avoid no-maj detection, and travel was more trouble than it was worth, especially if they didn’t know how credit cards worked. Draco sullenly flipped through an unrelated tome about poisons while Narcissa weighed the pros and cons of the Swiss Alps out loud to her unresponsive son. Rose had decided that she liked Narcissa. She had a head on her shoulders. If she had to be honest, she was pretty hot for her age, and she found herself wondering what Draco would look like when he was older. Just as Rose was contemplating the ethical ramifications of finding one’s mother-in-law hot, she heard a snort of laughter from over her left shoulder, and Draco’s face managed the impossible by becoming even paler.

A redheaded omega was leaning against a nearby bookshelf with his hands in his pockets. “Lord, you always were a priss. Now you just look it.”

Draco snapped his book shut and turned his eyes resolutely away. “Fuck off, Weasley.”

“It’s Granger now, remember?” He tapped his collar.

At around the same time, Narcissa hissed at her son to mind his language and Rose started at the mention of Arthur and Molly’s surname. This must be one of their sons.

The redhead spoke again. “And to think, you poked at us all this time for being poor. At least my father never spent money he didn’t have.” He looked at the book Narcissa still held open. “Thinking about running away from debt? I can’t say I wouldn’t be happy if you left England.”

“Ron? I thought we were… oh.” A bushy-haired alpha woman rounded the corner and her eyes flashed with anger when she saw the Malfoys. “It’s you.”

Rose’s Bullshit Smile was getting some real mileage this month. She stepped between Ron and Draco and held out her hand. “Good morning, Mr. Granger! My name is Rose Gibson, and I’m a friend of your…”

“Oh, you’re Rose Gibson? The one who lets him prattle on about his machines?” Ron’s demeanor became slightly more friendly, but Rose could tell the wheels were turning in his mind, attempting to discern the connection between Draco and herself. “I should pay you, mate, I came over for dinner last week and was able to put two whole sentences in.”

Rose turned to the alpha. “And…?”

She didn’t hold out her hand. “Hermione Granger. What are you doing with the Malfoys?”

“Why Mrs. Granger, didn’t you hear? Draco and I are planning our wedding.”

Rose could almost hear Ron’s jaw pop when it hit the floor, but Hermione was unflappable. “You know what he’s done, right?”

“I believe in second chances.”

“I’ve never seen you before.”

“I wasn’t aware that you were a friend of the Malfoys.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not.”

Rose and Hermione were practically nose to nose now. Rose wasn’t usually an aggressive woman, but right now, she could feel the blood pumping in her ears, her muscles tightening.

Ron’s hand came out of left field and poked his mate in the cheek. “You two going to kiss? Because I wouldn’t mind watching.”

Hermione rubbed at her face. “Ron!”

“Look, I’ve got questions. Da said she was muggle-born.” He turned to Draco. “So, what, you try to kill all the muggle-borns and now you’re going to marry one?”

Draco just looked at his poisons book. “Fuck off, Weasley. This isn’t your problem.”

Ron looked thoughtful. “Come on, ‘Mione. Let’s go.” Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Ron shook his head. “What, are you going to trash the only bookshop on Diagon Alley? You’d never forgive yourself.” He pulled her out of the section by the arm, only pausing to throw an inscrutable glance over his shoulder.

Draco put down the book and threw Rose a withering look. “You shouldn’t have said anything.”

“I don’t understand--”

“You don’t think this is already hard for me? I’ve been paraded along Diagon Alley like a trophy of war all morning, and now you’re flaunting your blood status for anyone to see?”

Narcissa gave a nervous, startled laugh and glanced at Rose. “Draco… that’s enough of that.”

Rose had a sudden urge to shove him up against a bookshelf and show him exactly what a no-maj could do. When Lucius had denigrated her “blood status,” Rose had merely found it amusing. Her, Rose Gibson? Of “low birth”? Now, though, Draco didn’t want to be seen with her, and that stung more than she liked to admit. “What are you going to do once we’re married? Hole up in your room? Never show your face in the wizarding world again?”

Draco shrugged. “Maybe. What does it matter to you?”

“I was under the impression that I was marrying an omega, not a… piece of wet spaghetti.”

Draco just sneered. “I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, o alpha. You’re just being saddled with the Malfoy family failure. Maybe you should have negotiated a better contract.”

“Draco!” Narcissa tugged on her son’s robes. “Forgive him, Rose, he’s had a stressful week—”

Rose looked Draco dead in the eyes. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re only a failure if you give up. If you want to shut yourself up until you go mad and start hoarding cats, that’s fine by me. But you’re wasting everything that you’ve got going for you.”

“You would never understand my position.”

“You’re marrying into a great deal of money. You’re getting your family home back. Your alpha will occupy a Wizengamot seat. Isn’t that your position?”

“But it’s not my money or power, it’s yours. The Manor will be my father’s and I’m not even going to live there, I’m going to live in somewhere out in the middle of nowhere in the United States, surrounded by _strangers_! Everything you say I ‘have’ can be yanked away with the snap of your fingers. It’s only a matter of time until you get bored of me and I end up shut up somewhere anyway, so we may as well get on with it.”

Rose gritted her teeth. He was determined to see her as an evil, low-born captor anyway. Her inner alpha screamed at her to change his mind, to secret him away and shower him in love and punishment until he understood that he was hers and hers alone. But Rose didn’t have a habit of listening to her inner alpha, and she wouldn’t undignify herself by making a scene in front of her future mate’s mother. Instead, she cocked her head and put returned her stack of books to the shelf. “If that’s how you are determined to steer your future, then I suppose I have no choice but to fulfill your wishes. Owl me your chosen honeymoon location. Until next time, Draco, Mrs. Malfoy.” Then she turned on her heel and left the bookshop. She needed to wander muggle London for a while, to bathe in fluorescent light and blatant consumerism, and then she might begin to feel normal again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because Draco would not otherwise choose to take part in this marriage, I'm considering adding a consent warning to this piece. I don't plan on anything physically violent, but he is being financially and socially pressured into a sexual situation.


	9. The Red Dress

“Mother, please. Please. I promise. I’ll be so good.” Draco miserably shifted from one foot to another on the tailor’s dressmaking stand. Even though his wedding dress was only partially fitted, mother had insisted that he wear a new dress to meet Rose and her family in later that night for their Christmas party.

“After the stunt you pulled in Flourish and Blott’s? I don’t think so. At a formal dinner? What kind of statement would that make to your future Alpha?”

“…That I like to wear pants. I’ll be so sweet to her, I swear. I’ll lick her boots. Just let me wear pants.”

“The answer is no. Draco, I’m not doing this to make you upset or to punish you. I’m concerned about your marriage. If you set off on the wrong foot with your Alpha… there’s nothing I’ll be able to do to protect you.” Narcissa wiped her eyes. “I don’t just want you to be safe. Remember that you’re a Slytherin and a Malfoy and be proud, Draco. I want you to have agency, respect, power. And for that, you need your Alpha on your side, not fighting against you.”

“I would say that ship has sailed, Mother.”

“Not on my watch.” Narcissa brandished a silky, scarlet halter-top dress. “You saw how she was looking at you the other night. Put this on.”

Draco tried another tactic. “I think Rose is a sensible personality. She would appreciate a simple grey suit.”

“Alphas don’t know what they want. Get in the dress.”

Draco, grudgingly, got in the dress, glaring at his mother the entire time. He could feel the cool air on his skin all the way down to the small of his back and along his sides. Were halter dresses usually cut so narrowly? He was terrified that one of his nipples would pop out of the sides if he leaned over. Finally, he fastened it around his throat and was struck by how very collar-like the action felt. A warm buzz fluttered up from within his body, contrasted by the cool silk and air. He saw the satisfied look on his mother’s face and turned around to look in the mirror. His breath caught.

“Of course, we’ll have to take it in in the hips and the chest.” The dressmaker poked at him with some pins, but Draco couldn’t take his eyes from himself.

He looked like a manipulative, villainous Omega that lured Aurors to their doom in the pulp fiction novels sold outside of Flourish and Blott’s. He looked like he could kill an Alpha if they weren’t careful. He gingerly touched the fabric of the dress. “Oh. That’s me.”

“That’s always been you, Draco. If Rose couldn’t keep her eyes from you in that grey smock, she’ll be insensible when you show up in this. And Draco?”

“Yes, Mother?”

“Does this look like an Omega that shuts himself up in an attic?”

“Mother, you know I didn’t—”

“Well?”

“No.”

“That’s right. You’re a Malfoy. You’re going to remind Rose tonight that she doesn’t hold all of the cards.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's your one shot, Fancy, don't let me down


	10. The Big House

The Christmas party had not begun auspiciously. They Flooed, as instructed, to the “Gibson Ranch,” but instead of arriving in a cozy fireplace, they found themselves standing in a firepit in a frigid desert, with nothing but stars and barren mountains all around, with the exception of a stunningly beautiful omega in a dark green suit leaning up against a black muggle automobile.

“Wow, that thing really works, doesn’t it?” He took a drag of something that smelled fouler than a cigarette before stubbing it on the ground and crushing it under his heel. “Let’s get you into the warm car before we start talking. You must be freezing.” The last comment seemed especially pointed at Draco, which Draco resented. He helped them out of the pit before opening the doors to the “car.” His father took the first seat available in the back, although he didn't look happy about it, and his mother sat next to him, so Draco was left to sit up in the front with the muggle. The seats were comfortable, cushioned leather, and Draco could feel with a shock that something was warming them from the inside.

After the omega had closed the doors and settled next to Draco, Draco was beginning to lose the shock and chill of his situation. The automobile began moving along the road with astonishing smoothness, and Draco saw the man’s features cast in the orange glow of the contraption’s lights. He was pale and dark-haired, and had a soft, classically handsome look about him, like an ancient sculpture. Who was this omega? How did he know Rose? Why did _he _get to wear pants? Finally, Draco broke the silence. “I don’t understand why we’re out here in the middle of nowhere.”

“Oh, that? Sorry, Rose wanted to come out here and get you herself, but she got caught up in something. It’s just a couple of minutes away. We like our privacy around here, so Rose kept us out of the Floo network except for this firepit, and we keep it under surveillance most of the time. You can’t apparate anywhere near our house, either. We finally caved and shelled out for a team of wizards to apparition-proof the house once… well, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I mean… when muggles started getting killed. By… people… who don’t like muggles.”

“Oh.” They rode in silence for a moment after that. “And… who are you? You seem like you know Rose very well.”

“God! I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Rose’s brother, Frederick, but you can call me Fritz.”

Relief washed over Draco. Fritz was her _brother_. “Do you have any other siblings?”

Fritz glanced over at him. “Y’all really are getting married quickly. No, but we’ve got two more cousins, and we all grew up together. You’ll see them tonight. Jamie, he’s an Alpha, and little Clarence, an Omega, is the baby. Look, Draco, are you…” He glanced towards Draco’s parents in the backseat. “Are you excited to be getting married?”

Draco could feel the collective held breath of every person in the automobile. How could he possibly phrase what he felt? “I’m excited for our families to take this opportunity for growth together.”

Fritz whistled. “You should be a politician. You know, even though omegas can’t vote, we can still run for office in the US? One got elected just this year to the House of Representatives. You could have a real future around here, Draco. And here’s the Big House.”

Draco hadn’t even processed the idea that an omega could serve in a legislative body when the car descended into a valley and any response he could have given left his lips. The scrubby bushes and sandy terrain gave way to lush grass and massive trees filled with white flowers and little white lights. Other automobiles of varying shape, size and color were stationed along the road, and soon a mansion the size of Malfoy Manor came into view. Draco could see tailcoated Alphas and Omegas in gowns and gloves milling about its columns. Everything appeared to be wrapped in some combination of more lights and red ribbons. A string quartet played in the corner of the portico. As the automobile pulled up to the front of the house, four men dressed in black seemingly appeared out of nowhere and opened the “car” doors, and assessing eyes swiveled toward the Malfoy family as they stepped out of the vehicle.

Fritz ironed out the wrinkles on his pants with his palms. “Ah, it was a wonderful break while it lasted. Let’s see how few people we can get away with talking to before we find Rose. She was in the cigar room when I left her.” With that, Fritz moved toward the entrance of the Big House, and the Malfoy family followed suit into a massive vestibule filled with dark wood, a crystal chandelier, and a twisting staircase to the second floor.

Draco had never seen muggles like this before. Most muggle-borns, upon entering Wizarding society, had no capital or inheritance in Galleons and very little expertise regarding how society worked, and as such either lived covertly in the muggle world or scraped by with enough to survive in the Wizarding one. These muggles reminded him of purebloods. There was a nonchalance about them, as if the gardens, mansion, and party was, at best, mildly amusing. He had expected to feel out of place, but he felt confidence surging through him. He might not know how to properly clean vomit out of a nightshirt, or cook an omelette, or sew on a button, but he could project jaded ambivalence and demand respect. Sometimes he feels that’s all he ever learned growing up. He deigned a nod to any muggle that happened to lock eyes with him, but nothing more. He could see his parents acting in a similar manner, falling into comfortable default behaviors. After moving up the stairs, they entered a less populated section of the house comprised of a series of interlocking hallways carpeted in oriental rugs, and finally they arrived at a closed door with muffled voices emanating from it. Fritz swung the door open without any warning and every occupant of the room seemed to jump about a foot in the air.

An assortment of about six Alphas were reclining in wing-backed leather chairs in front of a fireplace, all of them except for Rose smoking cigars. At the sight of Fritz, they all seemed relieved. An older woman exhaled and ran her fingers through her dark hair. “Fritz. It’s just you.”

“It’s actually not just me. Rose’s fiancée and family are here. I assumed you would like to meet them.”

“Absolutely!” Rose stood up and glared at a portly gentleman with a comb-over. “I consider this discussion to be finished. Mother, would you like to come with me?”

The dark-haired woman frowned. “I may stay…”

Fritz entered the room, gently took the cigar from his mother’s fingers, and put it out. “Of course you should come! I’ve been looking forward to spending time with my family tonight, and everyone else in the party needs to spend some time with you too! You’re playing an atrocious host, Mother.”

The portly Alpha did not look happy with Fritz’s intervention and started to speak, but Mrs. Gibson took her son’s hand and stood up. “My son is right. We cannot spend all of tonight hiding away, and I never make a rash decision if I cannot help it. We will continue to speak about this during business hours. Call my secretary and have her set up a time for us to eat lunch this week.”

Lucius was the first to step up. He may only be at a muggle party, but the glitter of a society ball had transformed him into the old Lucius Malfoy again. He bowed to the woman and introduced himself. “Mrs. Gibson, my name is Lucius Malfoy and it is a pleasure to finally meet you. This is my mate, Narcissa, and my son, Draco.” With that, the remaining Malfoys stepped out of the doorway and into the room.

To Draco’s immense satisfaction, Rose’s eyes looked to be the size of dinner plates when she saw him. He avoided her gaze and curtsied carefully to Mrs. Gibson. She bowed back summarily. “Please, call me Sylvia. Rose has told me so much about you. I apologize that we were not all able to greet you properly, but I’m afraid we became entangled in other business.”

The portly Alpha got up as well, and his associates followed suit. His eyes raked over Draco, and then he chuckled. “So the Gibson heiress is settling down! Well, good for you, girl, and far be it from me to keep you from such a lovely young gentleman during your Christmas party.” He slapped Rose on the shoulder, a little too hard, and then they filed out of the room.

Rose was too busy staring at Draco to respond. “Draco, you look… very nice. Tonight.” After a moment, she broke out of her daze and held the door open. “Would you like something to eat? Drink? We’re serving lamb tonight, and risotto. But if you wouldn’t like that I can have the kitchen—”

“I ate something before we came, but thank you, Rose.” With that, he swept past her and back into the hallway. “Why don’t we rejoin the party?”

Fritz rolled his eyes. “Can we? Please? If I need to play the sole host to a thousand people for the rest of the night, I’m going to go hide in the woods and take my chances with the wolves until sunrise. Rose, are you sure you don’t have any other wizard friends I can go pick up?”

Sylvia grabbed her son’s upper arm in a death-grip. “Just go be friendly. You can do that for one night, can’t you? Friendly. Just smile and nod.”

“Draco needs another omega to how him around! Right, Draco?”

Before he could respond, Rose chimed in. “We will take charge of introducing Draco to everybody. After all, you and Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy must want to get to know each other.” Sylvia started to protest, but the two siblings each looped their arms around Draco’s and took off quickly toward the stairs.

“Our mother is a formidable force. She requires a tag-team effort,” explained Fritz. “Now, you need a drink. What’s your poison?”

“I… don’t really drink.” Draco was focusing on not tripping on a stairstep as they moved with a rapid pace. It seemed like the siblings had grown accustomed to moving quickly at parties so that nobody could stop them to talk. People turned and opened their mouths, but the trio simply barreled past them.

“That’s because he’s not a filthy delinquent like you, filthy delinquent.”

“Then there’s all the more reason for him to get a drink. I’ve got to spread my dark influence. You aren’t worried Mother won’t eat the poor Malfoys alive?”

“Oh, the ‘poor Malfoys’ will be just fine. Lucius is strong-willed on his own, but Narcissa is a force of nature.”

Draco stopped once they reached the foot of the stairs, catching his breath and teetering threateningly on his heels. “Knowing my parents, it’s your mother you should be worried about. Pardon me, but where _exactly_ are we going?”

Fritz looked at Rose. “Plans?”

Rose looked at Fritz. “Well, we can run away like social cowards.”

“Always a solid plan.”

“We can make the rounds and introduce Draco to everyone like we said we would.”

Fritz threw his arm around Draco. “A fate I wouldn’t wish upon my worst enemy.”

Draco detached himself from Fritz’s arm. “_I_ want to meet anyone you would deem relevant. I’m going to be your omega soon. We ought to make the requisite rounds.” He held out his hand and Rose, sobered, gave him her arm to take and a questioning look.

Fritz groaned and put his hand up to his head. “Oh God, you’re going to be such a good omega, and you’re going to make me look _awful,_ I just know it. Come on, let’s start with the Chapmans in the library and work our way around clockwise.”


	11. "Rum-And-Cokes"

The party, aside from the glowing decorations and the beautiful mansion, was stunningly boring. Draco was aware that interesting and important conversations were taking place around him, but nobody was willing to have them with an unknown mystery omega, and what little he could overhear, he didn’t understand. However, it was nice to eternally curtsey and smile at a party that was just… boring. There were no genocidal plans taking place, no dead blood traitors hanging from the ceiling, no dark rituals or werewolves or giant snakes.

Despite Rose’s constant threats, Fritz continued to sneak fizzy drinks into his hand. He said they were “rum-and-cokes,” and Draco didn’t mind them so much because they didn’t taste like alcohol at all. Now a warm buzz had begun to fill his stomach and he could feel blood rushing to his face, but he also found himself laughing along more easily with Fritz’s awful jokes and leaning into Rose’s hold more comfortably. She was so warm and strong, and he liked feeling the fine wool of her suit against his back. When he pressed up against her, he could pretend to like all the stupid muggles that lined up to talk to them, and the more he pretended to like them, the more they began including him in real conversations. One woman, who made Draco look sober, began whispering to Rose about the lax accounting procedures in the company at which she worked before catching herself and retreating to the billiards room, and another man let slip a connection between a charitable foundation and a tribal judge in Botswana that Draco could feel made Rose’s heartbeat quicken and her arm around him tighten. Finally, Rose politely dismissed the remaining crowd around her and began to move, to Draco’s chagrin. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go get some water. Remember to check out the dessert bar before you leave, you won’t forgive yourself if you miss it!” Her hand migrated from Draco’s shoulder to the small of his back and she corralled him onto the back portico, stopping only to mutter at a server. “Bring me some blankets out by the firepit. And wa_ter.”_

When they arrived outside, the cold air hit Draco like an icy wall, and he gasped and burrowed closer to Rose. She bundled him down a set of steps into a ring of stone benches surrounding a blazing fire, hidden away downhill from the rest of the house. She deposited him onto a bench and he felt a soft, warm blanket covering his body.

He curled up, tucked his knees under his chin, and drew the blanket up to his cheeks. “You’re different around your brother. You act stupid and you speak too quickly.”

She wheezed for a moment. “Well, pardon me then.”

“I don’t mean it in a bad way.”

“People behave differently around those they trust implicitly. I would trust my brother with more than my life.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Draco, I hardly know you.”

When he looked up at Rose, she wasn’t looking back at him with desire in her eyes, but anxiety. “Your parents are not going to be happy with this. Damn Fritz. He poured them too strong.” She held up her hand to his burning cheek, and he closed his eyes. That felt good. He could easily fall asleep, wrapped up in a warm blanket by a roaring fire and Rose watching over him. “Draco, you can rest, but will you drink this water first?”

“I just want to rest.”

“You’ll feel better in the morning if you drink this water.”

“I’m not thirsty. Just… let me close my eyes.” He leaned against her shoulder as his eyes drifted shut, but she pushed him back up against the bench.

“Draco. Drink this. All of it.” When his eyes fluttered open again, he could see her eyes boring into his. She held up the tall glass of water to his lips. “Now.” She was so close, he could smell her cologne. One of her hands snaked behind him to support his back. Was he in heat? He wasn’t in heat. But he could feel heat racing through his body and pooling in his groin, his heart beating lightning-fast.

“Okay,” said Draco, and then water touched his lips and he drank until she took the cup away.

She pulled a handkerchief out of her inner pocket, folded it, and handed it to him.

He stared at it for a moment before he wiped his face, and then he turned to her. “Are you going to kiss me now?”

“You would want to kiss a mudblood?”

That muddled Draco’s mind. “I… I don’t know. We have to kiss.”

“Oh, do we, Mr. Malfoy?”

“I’m yours. That’s why I’m here.”

A visible tremor ran through Rose, and her hand on his back tightened. He gasped and whimpered.

“You’re mine?”

“You paid for me.”

Rose’s grip slackened, and Draco thought for sure she was going to pull away. Instead she moved toward him—she was going to kiss him!

She pressed her lips gently to his temple. Draco trembled with a mixture of relief and disappointment. “Close your eyes. I’ll find you a guest bedroom.” The last thing Draco felt was her fingers, running gently through his hair.


	12. Omega Bonding

When Draco woke up, it he was in an unfamiliar room. It was pristine, elegant, and so tasteful that it lacked any manner of personality. Outside of the floor-to-ceiling windows, branches laden with white flowers swayed in the breeze and, just as Rose had promised, he saw more stars than ever before in his life, with the milky way swirling across it like a milk in a dark cup of tea. His mouth felt sandpapery and dry.

“Did you have a good nap, Sleeping Beauty?”

With a jump, Draco realized he had company. Fritz was getting up from a chair in the corner of the room, with a muggle device in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sat on the end of the bed and passed the glass to Draco, who gulped it down gratefully. “Thank you,” he croaked.

“Rose was here for most of the night, but she asked me to sit here instead. I said that you didn’t need a babysitter, but she insisted.”

“You were right. You shouldn’t have to miss your party.”

“It’s just a party. The most important person here tonight is you, after all. I can’t believe my sister is marrying someone she hardly even knows. She could have had lots of choices, you know, if she actually decided to court someone. Bitches bat their eyelashes at her all the time, but she just shakes it off and said she’s too busy with work. Do you know why?”

“Um… I suppose I don’t?” Although it was dark, it didn’t look like Fritz was smiling at him. Draco scooted back to sit upright against the headboard. What had he done wrong?

“Our father drank. Drinks, I should say, but we don’t seem him at all that much anymore. He dragged my mother’s finances, good name, and heart through the mud. For years and years, we tried to fix him, but he didn’t want to be fixed. So he lives in New Hampshire now, with whomever he’s found to leech off of these days.”

Draco didn’t know what to say. “What’s happening, Fritz? Are you upset with me?”

“It doesn’t matter what_ I_ think about my sister’s marriage, does it? Omegas don’t have any say in anything. But drinking until you pass out the night you meet our family? It’s not a good look for you, Draco.”

“But you’re the one who kept handing me drinks! I told you I don’t drink very much. I didn’t realize—”

“That sounds like an excuse, Draco. My mother doesn’t take kindly to excuses. She won’t support your marriage after tonight, and my sister won’t go against my mother’s wishes.”

“Why would you do this?”

“I have nothing against you. But my sister is a good person. She deserves to be happy. And I won’t watch her heart break like my mother’s did for an Omega that just wants to take her money.”

Draco stared at Fritz. What could he say? He was marrying Rose for her money. But he wasn’t a faithless drunkard either! “I need this marriage. If you think you can stop me, you’re wrong.”

“You can duck out now, gracefully. But if you stay, you’ll make an enemy of me, and you don’t want to do that. I’m not just Rose’s brother, I’m her best friend. You’ve only known her for a week. Go home.”

Draco slid out of the bed and placed the cup carefully on the nightstand. He was still a little wobbly, but he would be fine. “No.” With that, he checked his hair and dress in the mirror, picked up his heels, and left the bedroom barefoot.


	13. Chester

Draco didn’t know what time it was, but the party was on its last legs. After returning downstairs, he saw people mainly asleep on couches or in small groups speaking in hushed voices, with the exception of one couple waltzing to silence alone on the ballroom floor, barely able to stay upright. The majority appeared to have retired to guest bedrooms or the other, surrounding buildings that Draco had not yet seen. He needed to find Rose, to make amends and get her on his side before Fritz talked to her again. It also probably wouldn’t hurt to at least attempt to explain to his parents.

After half an hour of searching, they were nowhere to be seen inside, so Draco padded outside to check the hidden firepit. As he descended the stairs, he found not Rose but one of her uncles, whom he had met last night. He was the youngest of the three adult Gibson siblings, Sylvia, James Sr., and Chester. All three had the same signature, almost Snape-like look, with dark hair and a hooked nose. Rose and Fritz, with their cherubic faces, must have taken after their absentee father. He was smoking a cigar and staring intently at his device, or “muggle wand” as Rose called them. When he saw Draco, he looked up and grinned. “My future nephew-in-law! Already mentally spending the Gibson fortune? I would be. If you’re looking for Rose, I’m afraid I’ve taken over her usual hiding-hole while she gives your parents a tour of the grounds. They’re jet-lagged as hell, obviously. Want a puff?”

Draco didn’t ask what jet-lagged means. He was too tired for muggle bullshit. “I must decline, Mr. Gibson. And I’m not so sure I’ll can expect anything after my behavior tonight.” He sat down a few spaces away from Chester and warmed his hands by the embers of the fire.

“Hate to be that guy, but it’s technically early in the morning. Yeah, Sylvia and her kids are so anal about drinking. When I heard Rose planned to marry you, I figured you had to be boring as shit, but you’re actually pretty fun. If you do manage to marry Rose, you’ve got to promise me you’ll help me pull the stick out of her ass.”

“If you could put in a word for me with Mrs. Gibson, I would promise anything.”

Chester tossed his barely-smoked cigar into the fire, where it sent a shower of sparks into the air. “It’s a shit cigar. I should’ve known, since James loaned it to me. Once you get used to Havana, you can’t go back…. Anything?”

“I mean, I didn’t know. It was kind of a joke.”

“You shouldn’t joke like that, then, sweetheart.”

“Could you make her change her mind? Tell her that I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself. Fritz made me get drunk on purpose.”

“Is that true? Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter. It’s what people think is true that counts. And I can convince her. We’re all very close. This whole family spends too much fucking time together. But you’ve got to do something for me, if I’m going to stick my neck out for you.”

“…What’s that?” Draco all of a sudden became very aware of his dress, his posture, his nearness to the older man. He crossed his arms to cover his chest.

Chester looked at him for a second, then roared in laughter. “Relax, kid! I don’t mean anything like that.” He slapped Draco on the knee, and Draco winced. “Although I wouldn’t say no if you were to offer! No, I’m interested in some wizard stuff.”

“Wizard stuff?”

“Rose told me there was something you could drink to make yourself look like another person. Is that true?”

“A Polyjuice potion?” Draco was pretty sure muggle-borns weren't supposed to talk about magic with their extended families.

“Sure, yeah. I need one of them. Get that potion to me by tomorrow at five, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Tomorrow evening! Do you know how long it takes to brew a Polyjuice potion?”

“That’s your problem, sweetheart. Tomorrow at five, at your little portal in the firepit, I’ll meet you. If you fail, I’ll make sure you never see Rose again. Capiche?”

“That's impossible! I need more time!”

Just then, Draco heard his father’s voice from the direction of the house. Chester raised his eyebrow and gave a dismissive wave. “And not a word to anyone or the deal’s off, alright? Welcome to the family, sweetheart.”


	14. Cufflinks and What They Caused

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to anyone looking forward to a quick update. My health deteriorated more than a bit and I needed to put all of my focus on that and my grades... Nevertheless, my break has given me time to think through my story and plan out my plot a bit more thoroughly.
> 
> Man, it's taking these two forever to get married!

Draco couldn’t meet either of his parents’ eyes, but if he knew them, his father was looking at him with anger, and his mother, resigned disappointment. He needed to focus on getting his hands on a Polyjuice potion. Rose passed him a warm mug of what he realized with disgust was coffee, and he used the opportunity to stare into it and think while his mother made small talk. He could manage to brew a Polyjuice potion—he had always been a talented potions student—but he couldn’t do it on short notice. It would take at least a week to gather the ingredients and brew. The only feasible option would be to purchase a vial from Knockturn Alley, but it would cost a small fortune that he didn’t have. He couldn’t petition Rose for funds without his parents getting suspicious. He would have to procure the money himself, quickly.

His mother was filling the empty space in conversation by complimenting the property she had viewed on the grounds tour. “You should see Rose’s house, Draco! It’s just lovely, a few miles upstream. From your bedroom, you can step out onto a patio overlooking the riverbank…”

“I’d like to see it. The house where I’m going to live.”

“Of course you do.” His mother looked at him kindly. “Lucius, come, let’s get back in the ‘car.’”

“No, you’ve already seen it. There’s little point. Besides, Rose’s Uncle Chester said that he wanted to meet you before you left.” If his parents came, there would be too many eyes on him. He just needed one window of opportunity.

Lucius let out an audible growl. “I am not allowing this muggle-born to whisk you off to her bedroom unaccompanied.”

Draco heard Fritz’s voice from behind him and turned around to see the younger Gibson smiling cheerily, hands in his pockets. “You’re absolutely right! Rose, you scoundrel! Don’t worry, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll make sure they leave room for Jesus.” With that, he grabbed Draco’s and Rose’s hands and whisked them out the front door before either of Draco’s parents could say anything. Despite having been threatened by Fritz earlier in the evening, he could appreciate the Gibson’s “walk very fast” method of avoiding parental authority.

Rose situated herself in the driver’s seat and peeled out of the driveway before peering suspiciously at the omegas sitting in the back. “I’m smart enough to know when I’ve been roped into something. Fritz? Draco? Are you two in cahoots? Why are we driving off?”

Fritz looked out the window. “I figured the two of you could use some more quality time. Just your good old brother, looking out for you. Speaking of Jesus, Draco, are you a Christian?”

“Merlin, no.” Draco tried to catch Fritz’s eye, to no avail. “They tried to burn us for a few hundred years.”

“Hm. That could be a problem. We go to church. Rose didn’t tell you?”

“No—”

“What do you like to do? You’ll have to find something to occupy your time out here. Oh, I know. You can take up needlepoint.”

“What’s needlepoint?”

Rose interrupted. “Fritz, are you… alright?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

“I thought you hated needlepoint.”

“I thought Draco might like it.”

After that, they rode in silence. Eventually, they pulled up to another house. While still large by most standards, it seemed cozy compared to the Big House. Rose pulled open the double doors in the entryway with a visible sense of relief and ushered the two omegas inside.

Draco tried to wrap his mind around the idea that he would live here one day. Would he have to go to church? How was he ever going to make any friends out here, in the middle of nowhere? What was he going to _do_?

Rose’s house, compared to the Big House, was surprisingly small. It was just one story, with a simple porch wrapping around the outside, and it looked… old. It overlooked the bayou, as his mother had promised. The sun, just now beginning to creep over the horizon, illuminated a muddy, sluggish river. Draco considered it underwhelming, but he could feel Rose puffing up with pride beside him.

“It’s been in the family for over one hundred years! I can’t believe nobody else wanted it. It is their loss, and my gain.” Draco tactfully did not say that Malfoy Manor was over three hundred years old, and far better-looking. Why did his alpha choose to live somewhere so small and simple? Would he really be expected to live, and entertain, here? Fulfill his role as an omega here?

As they entered, again, Draco was disappointed. In much the same vein as her clothing, she had chosen furniture that was tasteful, but boring, thoroughly out of style, and kept in an unkempt state. Books and papers piled on top of each other on every surface, and teacups, some emptied and some simply forgotten, sat on top of said books. All of this was useless. He need something small, and valuable enough to pawn for a Polyjuice potion. Fritz, sulking, announced he would raid her pantry for snacks while Rose toured him through the entry, kitchen, study, and… the bedroom, all the while explaining the historic origins of the house. “…My great-grandfather shot his brother in here. Family dispute. They patched up the bullet hole, but you can still see…”

Draco tuned her out and made a conscious effort not to imagine himself getting bent over her shabby wooden bed onto her shabby grey sheets. Like a common mudblood. Like he was nothing… He couldn’t think too far ahead, or he would break down. He needed to think about 5 o’clock that day, and the Polyjuice potion.

Finally, Draco’s eyes found a pair of golden cufflinks, discarded haphazardly on Rose’s nightstand. While she turned away to open the drapes, he darted out with his hand and snatched them in one fell swoop.

“…All the animals in the area come to the river to drink…”

Draco’s blood froze when Fritz’s hand snuck around from behind him and closed around his wrist. When had he left the kitchen? “Hey, Rose. Draco here was slipping something into his pocket.”

He didn’t know what to say. Fritz let go when Rose latched onto him with her own hand, even tighter and more insistent. He just stood there, stock still but breathing faster and faster in a haze of panic, while Rose peeled his fingers from the cufflinks, one by one.

Slowly and deliberately, she put them in her pocket. “Thief.” It wasn’t a question. One of her gloved hands was still wrapped around his thin wrist, and he could feel them shaking in anger. Or was it him, shaking in fear?

“Rose—I can explain—”

“Have I not taken care of you? Have I not spent extravagantly on your wedding, fulfilled your family’s every request?” Her voice had become dangerously soft, so soft that he had to strain to hear. “Or are you just stealing in a _pathetic_ show of rebellion? I am a patient alpha, Draco, but I will not tolerate deceit.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair_! Draco felt tears of frustration welling in his eyes. No matter what he did, he always lost and lost. Worst of all, he could see Fritz gazing at him with lofty satisfaction. _If you stay, you’ll make an enemy of me._ He snatched his wrist out of her hand. “NO! You haven’t taken care of me, Rose! Fuck you, and fuck your crazy mudblood family! I’ve been threatened twice since last night! Twice! And you’ve done nothing to protect me!”

“…_Threatened_?”

“Your brother told me that he got me drunk on purpose. He said that your mother would never approve of a drunk. He told me to fuck off. And then your uncle said if I didn’t give him a Polyjuice potion—a disguise potion-- by five—”

“…What?” Rose just looked bewildered, now. She looked at her brother, and back at Draco.

“That he would make sure you never looked at me again! So what am I supposed to do, Rose? Dip into my Gringotts account? All you’ve done is left me alone at the mercy of your family. I’ve had to take care of myself, and that’s what I was doing. If that makes me a thief, then fine, but the real snakes are _all Gibsons_.”

Rose took Draco’s shoulders in her hands and caught his gaze. “Which uncle?”

“…Chester.”

She hissed through her teeth and glared at the opposite wall. “Bastard. Bastard, bastard.” Then she returned her attention to Draco. “I do apologize, Draco. It seems that, once again, I have underestimated the duplicity of my family. I will talk to Fritz, and I will make Chester pay.”

Fritz looked shocked. “Rose? Are you serious? You know I would never do something like that.”

“Fritz… you’ve been acting oddly all last night. And today. I know you. Needlepoint? Come on.” For a moment, they met eyes, and Fritz couldn’t hold hers.

“You need to be happy, Rose.”

“You sound just like Mother. Fritz, for the love of God, respect my wishes in this. Don’t tell me what’s going to make me happy. If I don’t have you on my team, I don’t have anyone in this godforsaken family.” For a long moment, the two siblings just stared at each other. Rose put her hand on her brother’s shoulder, but he didn't meet her eyes.

How very touching. Draco still wanted to kick Fritz in the groin. “So now you see I’m right.”

“No, you’re not.” Rose began to pace, not meeting his eyes. “Fritz, do me a favor and take a walk by the river.”

Fritz nodded and retreated. Draco could hear the finality of the front door slamming shut. How did Fritz get off so easy, while he faced the lone wrath of Rose? He swallowed.

“You were in distress. And instead of coming to me, you lied and stole. I haven’t taken care of you properly, but how am I meant to when you hide the truth? It’s no secret that you see me as a mudblood, and that you wish for as little contact with me as possible. I know what kind of marriage you want – a marriage in name. You’ve made that publicly clear. You don’t intend to confide in me.” Rose rubbed her eyes. “I know this marriage will be profitable for me, but I also believe that love is a thing you choose to have. Maybe that was too optimistic. I was ready to put in the work to make a real relationship, but now I’m wandering in the dark. I’m at a loss, Draco. I will speak to my family, but that’s all I can promise.” With that, she abruptly turned away and opened her bedroom door to leave.

“Wait! Please wait.” Draco’s mind was filled with the memory of Rose leaving him in the bookshop. “Wait, Rose. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.”

“It?”

“You can’t just… run away. You’re an alpha. You’re supposed to _do_ something.”

“What would you have me do? I’ll make sure my family stops harassing you, and I’ll give you as much distance as possible. I’m not going to make you live a pretend life. Let’s just get this wedding over with.”

“I don’t want that. Not really. I want to be happy. I want to make a difference in the world.”

“Then what the hell do you want me to do, Draco?”

With that question, the horrible and inevitable solution crystallized in Draco’s mind. For a moment, he just looked a Rose, at her strength, her hands. His voice was quiet, and he couldn’t meet her eyes. “You should spank me. That’s what a good alpha would do.”

“Are you insane? Draco?”

“I didn’t trust you. I lied to you and I didn’t let you protect me. You’re right. But an alpha isn’t supposed to just run away. They’re supposed to… punish. Their omega.” He swallowed. “I don’t want you to walk away and ignore me. I don’t want to hide forever. I want to be a real omega.” He could see his hands shaking, and he fisted them in his dress. Slowly, he lowered his eyes and went down onto his knees, first one and then the other. “Please don’t give up on me.”

Draco could see Rose’s boots drawing closer, silent on her bedroom’s ancient rug. He felt her warm fingers combing through his hair, and another soft kiss on his forehead, just like when she had taken care of him at the firepit. Draco flushed at the memory. “I have failed you, omega. Come here, brave boy.” Rose held out a hand to help Draco up and then guided him to an old leather chair nestled near her room’s fireplace before sitting down. “Across my lap.”

Draco had never been spanked before. There was something squirming in his chest, but it wasn’t fear. Fear was when Voldemort threatened to give him to Fenrir Greyback as a reward. Fear was shivering in chains, waiting for the Ministry’s judgment. He was nervous, and humiliated, but he wasn’t afraid. He knew that Rose wouldn’t give him more than he could take. He bent over her lap, and her hand clasped firmly around the back of his neck, guiding him further forward than he would have liked, so that his bottom stuck out into the air. Slowly, Rose traced her hands from his knees up to his waist, pushing up the silky fabric of his dress and exposing his panties to the air. Was she going to--?

“I’m leaving your panties on, Draco. We are only engaged, after all, and I am a gentlewoman.” He could hear the smirk in her voice. She began pulling the edge of his panties up and out of the way, causing them to wedge uncomfortably in his bottom, but Draco was too relieved that he could keep them on to complain. “Because you were a good boy and asked for this, I won’t order you to count today.”

Heat surged through Draco. _Good boy_. _You were a good boy and asked for this. _To his horror, he realized that his little omega dick was becoming hard and pressing against the fabric of his panties and into Rose’s leg. Rose didn’t acknowledge this with words, but shifted her leg so as to remove any stimulation, as if to say _this is a punishment. _Draco covered his face with his hands and tried to scrub away his tears of shame.

After Draco finally settled into stillness, he felt the leather of Rose’s gloves land gently on his skin, one on his lower back and one on his bottom. The latter left and Draco tensed for the blow—

_Smack._

It was mortifying on principle, but Draco was surprised that it was not, in fact, terribly painful. Is this really what other omegas were so avoidant of? It wasn’t the end of the world. Then more blows rained down on his bottom, increasing in their severity, and what began as uncomfortable became stinging and unbearable after a few minutes.

Compulsively, his hand shot back to block a blow, and Rose stopped for a moment. “No, Draco. Hands behind your back.”

“It hurts,” he whined. “Rose…”

“I know. Give me your hands.” Begrudgingly, he put his hands behind his back, and Rose grabbed them in the vise-like grip of her off-hand, trapping them there, then continued without warning.

After another minute, he began to hiss and whimper, and felt tears well up in his eyes again, this time from pain. He wasn’t worrying about kneeling, or his panties, or his erection anymore. He just wanted the stinging to stop. “It hurts. Ithurtsshitithurts—Rose! Ahh!” He tried to squirm out from her lap, but she held him firmly. “Please!”

“It’s okay, Draco. You can make as much noise as you need to. But you will finish when I say you are finished.” She didn’t say anything more after that. Draco continued to beg and whimper, and even try to wiggle out of her grasp, to no avail. He even bit her leg through her slacks, but she didn’t seem to particularly care.

After what felt like an eternity, suddenly, she stopped, and Draco drooped into her lap, too exhausted to move, his face splotchy and covered in tear tracks. He felt her readjusting his panties and dress, and then her hands gently moved around his middle, maneuvering him into a sitting position straddled across her lap. He couldn’t bear to look at Rose, so he shut his eyes tightly and buried his face into her neck, trying to lose himself in the smell of her cologne. She traced patterns onto his back with her fingers and muttered praise. “You took your punishment so well, Draco.”

“If I thought it would hurt that much, I wouldn’t have…” Draco trailed off grumpily.

Rose pressed a kiss to his jawline. “Asked me to spank you?”

“Whatever.” Draco shifted his weight, and the realization crashed upon him that _Rose was hard in her pants. _He leaned back and looked at her with shocked eyes. “You… pervert!”

A shit-eating grin broke out on Rose’s face. Her hands trailed down to Draco’s waist and squeezed his delicate skin. “As I recall, I wasn’t the only one to enjoy it.”

“Not… not after it started hurting!”

She drew him close and pressed small kisses all over his jaw and neck. “You really can’t blame me, darling. It’s your fault for having such a cute bottom, and for crying so prettily.” Her alpha fangs scraped the skin under Draco’s ear, gently, so as not to leave a mark. “God, I can’t _wait_ to bite you. You have no idea. I suppose I will have to take a long shower, now.”

Suddenly, Draco saw an image of himself in his mind: Unmarried, red dress rucked up to his hips, all alone, on the lap of a mudblood in some hovel in the middle of nowhere. A wave of revulsion passed through him, and he fought the urge to scramble off her lap and bolt down the road back to the Big House and the safety of his parents. Instead, he carefully detached himself from her and balanced himself on shaky legs. Just as he had begun to calm down, he heard the sound of a door slamming open and a smell so distinctive he would know it anywhere: His father’s rage.


	15. Accusations

Rose heard the sound of a door slamming open and a smell so distinctive she would know it anywhere: Her mother’s rage.

She leapt to her feet, instinctively shielding Draco as Lucius Malfoy rounded the corner into her bedroom. He was also boiling with anger, and for a moment Rose irrationally felt he knew that she had just spanked his son. He was yelling about an insult to his family’s name, but louder and more insistently than usual. Did he cast some kind of… spanking-detection spell? Could wizards do that?

Then Sylvia Gibson walked into the room, and her baleful eye was turned onto Lucius. This… was not good. Rose did not offend easily, and easily allowed Lucius’ griping and empty threats to roll off of her like water off of a duck’s back. Her mother, however, could be set off by the slightest act of defiance. Lucius had begun spewing a stream of insults targeting their family, Rose, Fritz… Ah. That did it. Nobody insulted Fritz.

Sylvia grimaced at Lucius like he was shit stuck to the bottom of her boots. “My son? You’re questioning my son’s virtue?”

“Him, and your entire foul breed. You won’t touch my son, and I won’t let your scoundrel daughter—”

“Would you like to know what I know about your son, Lucius?” The room grew quiet.

“I know that, while my daughter claims you are a well-considered family, I have never heard of you, and all I know is that you are sucking away my family’s fortune like a piglet at a teat. I know that if he’s been to finishing school, he certainly doesn’t put it into practice, because he appears to have a complete absence of omega training. I know that my son does not vouch for him, and he is an excellent judge of character. I know that you sent him to an alpha school until he was seventeen, where he slept in a dormitory surrounded by them, but you expect me to believe he is a virgin on faith. I know that he spent last night drunk, and humping my daughter’s leg like a bitch in heat. Rose is my sole heir. Knowing what I know, I cannot in good conscience give my blessing to this marriage, no matter how profitable, without an examination of Draco’s purity.”

Lucius’ voice was hoarse. “Savages. This… this is archaic.”

She bared her teeth. “Welcome to Gibson, Texas. We keep to tradition here. If you would like to leech off of a less archaic family, you may try your luck in New York society.”

Damn her mother! Damn Fritz! Rose attempted to pull her mother into the hallway, but the woman wouldn’t budge so she had to settle for glaring at her mother, their noses so close that they almost brushed. “I will not allow it. I won’t put Draco through such an ordeal.”

“Child, I can make life very difficult for you. I can’t stop you from an ill-advised marriage, but I can make your sacrifice worthless. You keep your position in the company at my discretion.”

“You just don’t want to see me do something on my own. To grow the company in my own way, outside of your noose of control. You’re just scared.”

“I’m scared.” Her mother’s eyes softened. “That my daughter is signing herself up for an unhappy life. You don’t have to do everything on your own —that’s what family is for. Rose, I’m happy to support you. I know I don’t say it often but—"

A head of blond, silky hair appeared near their noses, and they both looked down in surprise. Draco looked first at Rose, and then at her mother with a determination that any alpha would envy. The thought bubbled into her mind that her strong omega had survived a war. “I’ll do it.”

“No!” Rose and Lucius both barked at Draco at the same time, and Rose felt him shrink under the command of both his father and his fiancée. Rose’s arm snuck around his shoulder possessively and held him close. She wished she could keep him there forever, tucked up against her body and protected from her family’s machinations. She felt him snuggle against her side, and for a moment, she thought that she had contained him, but then he spoke again.

“I’m going to marry Rose. I really am. So I’ll do what I need to do.” He sounded like he had just, in that moment, realized that he would marry her, and resigned himself to it. He sounded tired. Rose wanted to take him away… somewhere. Somewhere there wasn’t so many rules, where they weren’t marrying out of obligation, where he didn’t need to be insulted and stepped upon. She was powerful, yes. She had money, and education, and political sway. But now, she wasn’t powerful in a single way that mattered at all. Her hatred for her mother’s control felt like a rat trapped inside of her ribcage, scratching and squealing.

Sylvia leaned down to catch her omega’s eye. “You probably hate me right now, but I do respect that, my dear. The world needs more people that do what they need to do, even when it isn’t pleasant.” If she called Draco _dear_ again, Rose would rip out her eyeballs. “Go on, then.”

Rose was certain that this was a rigged game. Sylvia was right: Draco had gone to an alpha school, and he was beautiful. She had never expected him to be a virgin—the opposite, in fact. Her mother was laying a trap that Draco was intended to fail.

Rose locked eyes with Lucius, and she could tell that they were sharing the same horrifying thought process. They both watched, frozen, as Draco slowly bent over her low bed. He looked at her, demanding her presence with his eyes, and she was there in a moment. He held her hand, but the sickening feeling grew in Rose that he was comforting her, rather than the other way around. Tradition demanded that she take over the process of revealing him, but she just… couldn’t. After a moment, he pulled up his own dress, and his underwear down, with his other hand, and spread his legs for the room. Rose kept her eyes trained on where Draco’s hand squeezed hers. She was a failure as an alpha.

“Huh.” Sylvia put her hands on her hips. “Well.”

Lucius, next to Rose, reached up and pulled his son’s skirt down in a jerking gesture. “I hope you are satisfied. You slavering fiend.”

Impossible. Rose’s first thought was relief, but her second was a selfish whisper: _Nobody has taken him. He is yours completely. _

Draco was getting up and pulling up his underwear in one fluid motion. His face was impossibly red, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. His hair stuck up on one side, and Rose had to tamp down the urge to smooth it down. “Father. I’m sorry.”

Lucius didn’t hesitate: He pulled his son away from Rose and into his arms. “You were brave, Draco. Very, very brave. There is nothing to apologize for.”

From the shocked look on Draco’s face, Rose expected that Lucius had not hugged his son in a very long time. Draco muttered into his father’s chest, “Let’s not tell Mother. She would cry.” Lucius nodded in assent. Then his gaze turned to Rose.

He hissed through his teeth, reminding Rose of a snake. “You. You spanked my son. He’s not yours, not yet. Scoundrel.”


	16. Stupidity

Rose saw Draco tense against his father’s chest. Well, damn. Any regard for her that Lucius may have gained over the course of her lavish family party was now toast. Draco’s eyes flicked toward her, silently begging her to come up with something, anything. How could she justify--? Well. Maybe she just wouldn’t.

“It’s a private matter.” She stared down Lucius firmly. “Your son and I have worked it out between ourselves.”

His eyes widened in rage and disbelief. “_A private matter? _This is the second insult to my son today. I’ll have you dead in a duel before you lay another _finger_—”

A duel? Like with… spells? Wild. He was starting to get a look in his eye that suggested he may do something irrational, money be damned. She looked at Draco, face still flaming red from taking the proverbial bullet of the day. Then, she bowed low.

“I maintain, Mr. Malfoy, that this is a private matter between the two of us. You’ll just have to trust my honor in this regard. However, I accept full responsibility, and I’ll do anything you require to make it up to you and your son.”

“Trust you? As far as I’m concerned, you’re just another vermin worming her way into the destruction of the Wizarding world. You can’t buy your way out of everything, mudblood.”

“You really want me… to _duel_ you?”

“I’ll watch you suffer for this.”

“Mr. Malfoy, respectfully…” Rose cleared her throat, still bowed at an awkward angle. “The Ministry has a trace on you…” Her mother, unhelpfully, smothered a laugh.

“Oh, that’s _fine_. I can think of quite a few alphas that would volunteer on my behalf. Alphas that wouldn’t like to see a mudblood on the Wizengamot.”

“You’d really throw everything away? For this?”

“I’m agreeing to all of this for Draco’s future. As I see it now, Draco doesn’t need a future with you. You are lucky I even allow you to _touch_ my son, much less marry him. Now that I can see you’re as much of a cur as your bloodline would lead me to believe.”

“And why would I accept that?”

“Because you’ll never see Draco again otherwise.” Draco, trapped under his father’s arm, had paled even further than his norm. Apparently, these “wizard duels” were a serious business. But Rose wasn’t going to out Draco for stealing in front of his father. Draco had already taken punishment from Rose. They had resolved the issue themselves. As much as Rose knew they were not mated yet, she refused to turn over control and discipline of Draco to his father now, not when he had kneeled to her just a few minutes before. It came down to a question of Rose’s honor. With a rising internal sense of the surreal, Rose looked Lucius Malfoy in the eye and agreed to the sort of alpha foolishness that she had been avoiding her whole life. “I’ll duel whomever the hell you want.”

“Oh, God,” Fritz moaned. “This is unbelievably stupid.”

Sylvia cheerily patted her son on the back. “Young alphas will do stupid things. And her honor _has_ been questioned. If we’re lucky, she’ll turn into a lizard for a while and then forget this whole business.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Draco sat silently between his glowering parents for the ride back to the floo-connected firepit. His head hurt and his stomach was revolting against him, but worst of all was the corrosive atmosphere of disappointment in the vehicle. His mother, normally so full of drive and solutions, was expressionlessly watching the scenery pass by, and his father was hissing questions into his ear—what did she do to him? Did she touch him in any other way, under his clothes? Did that filthy mudblood threaten him? Why would she do this? Why, why, why?

What could Draco tell his father that wouldn’t break his heart? That his son, desperate for money and intimidated by a muggle, had pocketed a pair of cufflinks like a common thief? It would be easier to say that Rose cornered him lecherously, that she was coarse and cruel. But he couldn’t. So he just cowered there, between them, unspeaking.

Fritz drove the car, and that was the worst of it. Draco could see his fingers on the wheel tighten with every whispered accusation against his sister. He pulled to an unnecessarily aggressive stop by the firepit, jerking all of his passengers in their seats. “Get out.”

Draco allowed himself to be tugged by his father and kept his eyes to the ground. Fritz handed his father a wooden box filled with floo power, and then all three of them stepped forward—

Draco was yanked back while his parents descended into green flame. He startled, then looked at Fritz’s arms around his waist. “Fritz?”

“You and I are going to have a _chat_.” Then Fritz stomped into the automobile, slammed the door, and drove it on top of the firepit. After he got out, green false flames erupted continually around the bottom of the car. “Good. I was hoping that would work.”

“You… My father is going to kill you—”

“You’re going to get Rose killed? Or, you know, cursed or something? Are you fucking crazy? I waited that whole car ride for you to own up to your shit.”

“Fritz. I—”

“The only reason I haven’t told everyone what a sneaking bitch you are is because Rose asked me to be on her side. And now she’s going to get hurt. Did you think of that, genius?”

“Sneaking bitch?” Draco felt the anger rising in his chest. “From _you_? After last night?”

“I don’t know what you’ve done to Rose, but you’ve made her an idiot. She would have never done something like this before. And I’m going to have to pick up the pieces. So fix it.”

“… what?”

“You heard me! What are you going to do about it?”

Draco blinked a few times. “I… don’t know.”

Fritz looked equally baffled. “You don’t have a plan yet? Lord, give me strength. You really shouldn’t marry into our family.”

Draco looked at the green flames flaring and re-flaring under the automobile. He really should not be here. But… it was also the first time in days that he was able to have a moment of peace to order his thoughts. Planning a wedding had kept him in a permanent state of shock. Now, the wheels began to turn. “Rose is going to lose that duel. She couldn’t turn a rat into a cup.”

“That sounds like a really _necessary_ _life skill_. So? We sabotage the bastard. We’ll make him high, or sick, or something.”

Draco shook his head. “We have cures for any muggle poison. And whomever my father chooses is going to know their curses and potions.”

“So we come up with something novel, something they’ve never seen before. Something that could fly under the nose of your Ministry.”

“You’re no better than your uncle. All you muggles seem to think we can… Oh, Merlin." Draco scrubbed his face with his hands and looked out at the endless waste of the desert. "I know someone you could ask for help, but if you tell them I sent you... I'll kill you, if they don't do it first.”


	17. Outside Help

Of course, Draco knew that his father had exaggerated his ability to procure a wizard to duel Rose. Draco watched his father scribble letter after letter to any and all purebloods associated with the Wizengamot, making jerky, impatient trips back and forth from the postal station. (They had sold Eroqor, their family owl, after the Nimbus 3001, but before the family paintings.) But surely, surely… Surely his father could have done better than _Goyle_?

Goyle had been, to Draco’s chagrin, one of his best friends and closest companions throughout his school days. He had done as Draco commanded and clung onto every word. They clung to each other in the Room of Requirement, watching their childhood friend become consumed by the fiendfyre that he himself lit. Goyle was, above all, a spectre of Draco’s past. He must have volunteered out of sympathy—or pity—for his former friend. Compared to Rose, he had the mental capacity of a crustacean, but he also had the benefit of years of magical education. He could really, truly hurt her.

His father was in Azkaban, but Goyle, merely a student at the time, had been pardoned. Because he was an alpha, he inherited his father’s wealth, and had managed to maintain a well-kept townhouse with his mother even after the indemnities had done their damage. After all, he had only one Death Eater in the family, rather than three. Draco tried to quell the anxiety and jealousy fluttering in his stomach as he and Lucius arrived at the gate. Of course, that was not the only thing that was causing his stomach to churn: Firstly, he had been forced back into his grey dress. Goyle had not seen him since he was pretending to be an Alpha, and Draco wasn’t sure he would be able to look his old friend in the eye. Secondly, he had been hit squarely with a hex from some passerby on the way over, and now he could feel pus steadily gushing out of his nose. He hunched over, trying to keep as little of it as possible from staining his dress.

The door was answered by a house-elf, and then Goyle’s mother hurried to the doorframe. “Lucius! It’s such a relief to see you… in good health. Oh, Draco!”

Lucius bowed hurriedly before ushering Draco in the door. “Tamrin, your home is lovely as always. If you could…”

The omega pulled out her wand and counter-hexed Draco’s nose without a second thought. Draco resisted the urge to snatch the wand out of her hand, to feel magic flow through himself again, just for one glorious moment. “I must find you a handkerchief. Will you come in and say hello to Gregory? She gestured into their living room, a sea of ornate pink florals. Obviously, Mrs. Goyle did the decorating. “He’s been so worried for you.”

Worried? Draco supposed that he had been so caught up in how he would feel when he saw Goyle that he never considered that Goyle had been thinking of him. His old friend’s ape-like frame was perched on the edge of a rococo armchair. Had he always been so massive? He made the furniture around him look like children’s toys. He wore a man’s suit now instead of a school uniform, and he rose and bowed to Draco and his father as if he were a grown adult. He still had that stupid, vacant expression in his eyes, but he also looked tired and, yes, worried. He stared at Draco unabashedly before clearing his throat. “…You really are... Um.”

Draco stared back at Goyle in disbelief. Years had passed, and still he had not plumbed the depths of Goyle’s infuriating _slowness_. Draco had to suppress the urge not to whack the back of his head out of sheer habit. He curtsied. Goyle kept staring, his jaw slack, until the house-elf interrupted with a tray: “Tea, masters?”

_____________________________________________________________

Arthur, George, and Ron Weasley flooed, as instructed, to the “Gibson Ranch,” but instead of arriving in a cozy fireplace, they found themselves standing in a firepit in a frigid desert, with nothing but blue sky and barren mountains all around, with the exception of a tired-looking omega in a cashmere suit leaning up against a black muggle automobile.

Fritz took a drag of something that smelled fouler than a cigarette, then crushed what remained under his bootheel. “My name is Fritz,” he said. “And you must be the Weasleys. It’s nice to finally meet you—Rose speaks about you all the time.”

“Nice place,” said George. “Roomy. Where is Rose?”

“She doesn’t know you’re here, actually. Would you like to head towards the house?” Fritz gestured towards the car. “We have a lot of information to cover.”

“Doesn’t know we’re here?” Arthur ripped his eyes away from the car to look at the omega. “She sent us the message.”

“I impersonated her, actually. I got a squib that works in our Paris branch to send an owl. Rose is going to get herself killed, and I was hoping for your help.”

“Killed!”

“I’ve been reliably informed that you two,” he gestured to Ron and George, “are the men for the job. Would you like to take this conversation inside? It’s getting chilly.”

_____________________________________________________________

Draco wiped pus off of his face and neck while his father explained the “slight on Draco’s honor” to Goyle. The way Lucius told it, Rose was a violent criminal, blackmailing and intimidating her way into the Malfoy family, culminating in her hurting Draco. He didn’t mention that Draco had been spanked rather than beaten—while Draco’s sense of truth smarted at this, he was grateful for the sake of his pride. Finally, his father wrapped up the account with a reminder that Goyle would be preventing a mudblood from ascending to a position on the Wizengamot.

Goyle, enraptured, nodded along dumbly, but his mother fiddled with her wedding ring nervously, twirling it to and fro. “That’s all and well, Lucius, but… you can see how this would look, can’t you? Of course, I sympathize with you, dear Draco—I can’t imagine how you must feel, forced to marry a _mudblood_—but the last thing my son needs right now is to run afoul of the Ministry. Not with my husband…”

Goyle shook his head. “Father would’ve wanted me to help.”

“Dear, please think about this—”

He cut his mother off with a hard look. “It’s for Draco. I’ll do it.” Merlin, Goyle was a _head of household_. Wonders never ceased. His mother had shrunk back into her seat, her eyes swimming with tears. Draco gave this townhouse another year, maximum, before someone scammed what remained of his fortune out from under him. He felt a pang of sympathy for the woman, but then he remembered to be angry again.

She spoke again, at barely a whisper: “Lucius. I know it may not be the best time, but you’re one of the few people that have—you know. My husband is in that awful place, and you have been there, and I don’t wish to stir up any bad memories, but--”

Lucius patted her hand in an awkward attempt at comfort. “Perhaps… we should go talk in the kitchen. Draco, I will return momentarily.”

As soon as the door shut behind their parents, Goyle spoke up again. “You don’t have to worry, Draco. I’ll protect you. Just like I always did.”

Draco resisted the urge to snort. “Please, Goyle. You know this is nothing like when we were kids. Everything… everything is different now. Look at how we’re living.” He balled his hands in his dress.

“You were always beautiful.”

What?

“You were always beautiful, and I always protected you. Maybe I knew, even though I didn’t know. That you were like this.” Goyle had moved closer, and he took Draco by the wrist. Draco tried to shake his wrist free experimentally, but it was like trying to break steel. Goyle’s other hand reached up to rest on his neck, then began to slide slowly down his body, down his shoulder, his collarbone…

“Goyle… Please. Don’t—What are you doing?” Draco tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “Goyle. Come on, now.”

But Goyle wasn’t listening. His hand was so large compared to Draco’s chest, and it pressed down hard, contouring to his pectorals, sliding further down his stomach. “So many years, you told me what to do. You were the boss of me. But now I know. You needed an alpha. To protect you.”

Draco trembled in fear. “Stop,” he whispered. “Stopstopstop_stop_, Goyle.” Goyle’s hand had reached his upper thigh. “I need… I need to get married. I need to be pure.”

“You can marry me. Not the mudblood.”

“Yes. Yes! I can marry you. But you want me to be pure, right Goyle?” Every muscle in his body was begging him to bolt, but he met Goyle’s eyes from below and tilted his head to the side. “I can be… I can be good for you, alpha. Look, you can kiss me. That’s how courtship works, Goyle. We kiss, first.”

Draco wanted his mother. He wanted a wand. He wanted, he wanted… Then Goyle leaned in and smashed his face into Draco’s. Draco could feel the alpha’s slimy tongue tracing his lips. After a few moments, Goyle leaned back and Draco could feel spit cooling all around his mouth.

The door to the kitchen opened, and when Goyle looked away Draco furiously dried his face on his sleeve.

__________________________________________________________________

A few hours later, the Arthur and his sons were settled in for tea around the roaring fire of a manor Fritz called the Big House. To Arthur’s knowledge, George had only slipped a small, black muggle device and a tiny silver statue of a hippopotamus into his pockets, and Ron had made him put them both back. Disappointingly, all that they had been able to glean from Fritz is that Lucius Malfoy was attempting to get out of his contract with Rose by finding someone to duel her, and that she had said _yes _for some unfathomable reason.

“She can’t even really cast spells,” Fritz muttered glumly into his coffee. “She just knows that one where you shout ‘Accio.’ Mr. Weasley, you’ve come to know Rose—I think she’s spent more time at your house than our own for the last few months. And you run a shop that sells products that help people skip classes, cheat on exams, and deflect spells. Surely, you would be willing to help my idiot sister?”

Ron shrugged. “Tell her not to show up. Call off the marriage. If she really is a good person, she shouldn’t be marrying a Malfoy anyway.”

Fritz made a face. “You think I haven’t tried?”

“A Death Eater killed my brother,” said George, ice in his voice. He had been unusually quiet up until that moment. “Why in the hell would I help your sister marry one?”

“A Death Eater killed your brother. So you’re just going to let one kill my sister?”

George punched him in the nose, hard.

“Ow! Fuck!” Fritz cradled his face in his hands. “Ow, ow—”

“Your sister is still stupid, and custom services aren’t cheap. Twice the price for a rush job. How long do we have until the duel?”

“…It’s the day after tomorrow.” Fritz sounded nasally, and he dabbed further at his nose. “But if you give me something soon, I have someone on the inside. They could plant a product on whoever’s dueling my sister ahead of time.”

George leapt up. “It’s time for a masterpiece, Ron. It’ll be delayed reaction—something that would ruin a duel.”

“We could give him… a speech defect,” mused Ron. “Ruin his spellcasting.”

“Too apparent. Fritz, do you have some paper?”

All of a sudden, Arthur startled both of his sons by wrapping an arm around each. “You two are the best sons anyone could ask for. You’ve got a good heart, both of you.” A large smile had broken out on his face. “Now, if you excuse me, I think I saw a printer on my way in, and if I don’t examine it I’ll be failing my Ministry post.”

___________________________________________________________________

In the guest restroom of the Goyles' ancestral townhouse, Draco Malfoy takes a swig of a Weasley-crafted antidote.


	18. The Duel, or Stupidity Pt. 2

The duel was to take place on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. His mother refused to come, too upset with his father to even speak. Draco’s heart hurt as he walked in through the familiar gates and found the gardens repaired, white roses and delphiniums planted in neat rows. Just standing here, he could almost pretend that he was a boy again, zipping around the grounds on his child’s broomstick and picking berries with his mother in the springtime. If Rose won the duel, he could visit his parents for dinner, and they could sit out in the garden and listen to the evening birds. He did not think about what would happen if she lost.

She was already there when they walked up. Her bravado seemed to have faded, and she was nervously pulling her hands in and out of her pockets. Nevertheless, her face brightened when she saw Draco had arrived, and she drew close to him conspiratorially, ignoring Lucius’ chest puffing up in indignation. “Do you think I have a chance, Draco? I may not be much of a witch, but I stayed up last night practicing.”

“You’re a fool.”

“Oh, good! I’ve pledged my hand to a perceptive omega.”

His father yanked Draco behind him. “You would do well to keep your distance. My representative is arriving.”

Rose’s eyes widened when she saw Goyle reach the gates. “My God! That’s your representative? He looks like a brick!”

“He is a learned and pureblooded wizard, unlike yourself.”

“Are you sure? He looks pretty stumped by that gate latch.”

Lucius cursed under his breath and stormed off to open the gate for Goyle. Rose turned back to Draco. She was always smiling, but Draco had begun to understand her over the past few days, and he could see the strain hiding behind her grin. “Draco, I know I’m going to lose. I’m a fool, but I’m not an idiot.”

Had Fritz not told her anything? The potion would cause Goyle’s sense of direction to be ever-so-slightly “off”—he would see perfectly well, but would aim just to the right. Both Draco and the Weasleys had counted on Goyle’s already impressive clumsiness and stupidity, that he wouldn’t realize something was truly wrong until the duel started. Draco sucked in a breath, but Rose cut him off before he could say anything more. “I just figured… I’m not going to let you go without a fight. But when I lose, you’re going to have Malfoy Manor back, and enough landholdings to get you by. I can’t transfer it to you, but I can give it to your father. I’ve already arranged it with my lawyers. So, yes, I’m a fool, just like my mother was before me. And I thought I was so damn clever and cool-headed, marrying you.”

“Rose, you can’t—you can’t be serious!” But in that moment, his father returned to his side, and both his childhood friend and fiancée walked to their positions. Damn that woman, always walking away when they most needed to talk! They took opposite positions on a sidewalk flanked by two neat rows of trees. Rose had a manic look in her eyes. Goyle smiled cruelly.

Lucius instructed the young witch and wizard: Bow, salute, and the duel begins in one, two, three—

Rose whipped her wand out and shouted “_Petrificus Totalus_!” while her wand was still moving through the air, producing no effect. Draco winced at the gross mishandling of a simple spell, and continued to watch in horror as Goyle cast _Serpensortia_, and a dark, massive cobra erupted from the end of his wand—no aiming required. His old friend looked at him and smiled. Was this meant to be some sick nod to Draco’s past?

Rose leapt back and yelped, “Jesus Christ!”

Instead of finishing her off, Goyle just stared, sniggering stupidly.

Rose, instead of c_asting a spell_, reached over and broke off a delicate tree limb. Before Draco could even process what she was doing, she whipped it down onto the snake’s head, holding it against the ground, and then came forward and stomped in the its skull with the heel of her boot, bringing her almost nose-to-nose with Goyle. For a moment, everyone just stared at the twitching corpse of the cobra, and Rose whooped in victory and attempted to petrify Goyle again, at point-blank, to no avail. This caused Goyle to snap out of his stupor and cast _Levicorpus _with his wand-point touching her chest.

Rose managed to keep ahold of her wand as she was yanked into the air by her ankle, arms flailing. Draco felt, again, a sick sense of déjà vu rise inside him: He remembered the muggle family at the Triwizard Cup, how he had laughed and joked, cheering his father on as they were humiliated. Now Rose was up in the air, but she didn’t seem panicked, she—

Rose got ahold of Goyle’s hair with one hand and _pulled_. Goyle, howling, dropped his wand as both hands flew to his hair, trying to detach her. After a minute or so, Rose cursing and failing to cast spells all the while, Goyle managed to pry her fingers free with his sheer superiority of physical strength. He ducked down, scooped up his wand, and scrambled to a safe distance outside of her grabbing radius.

Draco could see his father rubbing his face in frustration. When Draco watched the duel between Snape and Lockhart, he thought that he had seen the stupidest wizarding duel in existence. He was wrong. This was not just profoundly terrifying and impactful on Draco’s life situation; it also was profoundly _stupid_.

“_Sectumsempera.” _Draco’s heart leapt into his throat, but the flash of light produced by Goyle’s wand passed Rose, missing to the right. Rose tried to petrify Goyle again, but failed.

“Rose! Hold your wand _still_!” Draco called out, then his father’s hand clamped over his mouth. Another spell missed Rose, and Goyle, growling, drew closer.

Rose fell stock-still, looking even more like a dead woman. Then she steadily raised her wand and, finally, petrified Goyle. Everyone stared in shock at the man, bound and struggling on the ground, and then at Rose, still hanging by her ankles.

“I did it! I won!” Rose whooped again and wiggled a bit. “Eat shit, Lucius!…Now, how do I get down? Draco?—"

Draco burst out laughing and crying at the same time.

* * *

Tamrin Goyle refused to un-hex the woman who had petrified her son, so Draco and his father, magic-less and humiliated, had to wait for Ministry enforcers to arrive. Lucius shouted at Rose for a while, but ultimately there was nothing else he could do. Draco expected that searching for a wizard willing to duel Rose revealed to Lucius exactly how friendless he truly was in the wizarding world. While his father headed into town to find someone to call the Ministry, Draco made himself comfortable on the ground next to Rose’s suspended body. She was grinning like a maniac, and her face was slowly but surely becoming splotchy and red.

“You’re wrong, Rose. You’re both a fool and an idiot.”

She laughed giddily. “Yeah, probably.”

“You know you weren’t obligated to duel him, legally. You could have just told my father no.”

Rose sighed. “I’m the odd duck in my family, Draco. My mother, my grandfather, his father before him, his mother before him… The Gibson family leader has always been hard-charging, loyal, aggressive, and… well, at times a little obtuse. But honorable, and brave. _Good old_ boys and girls. Then I came along, and I was abrupt, awkward. People put up with me because I’ll inherit my family’s corporation one day, but I don’t make friends easily, and I’m not exactly found under the encyclopedia entry for “alpha.” I always knew that I didn’t measure up to my ancestors. So I guess I just wanted to do this one thing right. So you can have a real alpha, one you can be proud of.”

“I’m an odd duck, too, Rose. Does that mean I get to fight Fritz?”

She barked out a laugh.

Draco took her head in his hands and tilted her eyes upwards (downwards?) toward his own. “I don’t think you understand, Rose Gibson. Do you think that my father, or other purebloods, will stop trying to bait you now? Do you think this is the last struggle we will face? If you get yourself killed, then with what am I left? If you do something like this again, I’ll…” He scowled and narrowed his eyes, the effect somewhat lessened because they were still puffy and red. “I could make your life hell, alpha. You would do well to keep your spouse on your side. I deserve an alpha with a head on her shoulders. I saved your life today, by sabotaging Goyle. I could sabotage you.”

Rose kissed the inside of Draco’s wrist, making him blush. Her demeanor had grown serious quickly. “I swear it, Draco. Together, the muggle world and the wizarding world will be at our feet. A new chapter for both of our families, greater even than those who came before us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have not personally seen a snake killed in this way, because normally there isn't a real reason to. Leave wild snakes alone, folks. If you must, get ahold of its head and then whirl it around like a hammer in track and field to make it lose balance, you can pretty much chuck it far away and it won't mess with you. (This is just what I've seen used, not official humane society advice.) I figured, though, that Rose whirling around a snake would be distracting in my writing and probably not helpful in a duel.


	19. The Wedding

Draco looked at himself in the mirror in his wedding dress. The first time he had worn an omega’s dress had been when he was brought to trial after the Dark Lord’s fall. It was government-issued, frayed, and too thin and flimsy to provide any defense against the cold of the Ministry courtroom. It had felt like a costume. For the first time since wearing that dress, Draco looked in the mirror and felt that he was himself, and that his Hogwarts uniforms and alpha suits had, in fact, been the costume for all of those years.

If everything had gone to plan, and the Dark Lord never returned from the dead, what would his wedding have been like? He would have continued to play alpha, and his father would find a pureblooded omega willing to keep his secret. He would have kept swigging suppressant potions until he died. Perhaps after his father died or had grown sufficiently infirm, in Draco’s middle age, he would have gathered the courage to meet some alpha anonymously to lose his virginity late in life, disguised by magic. He would have given anything for that life only weeks ago, but now, an alpha had cradled him while he was drunk, spanked him when he stole, and dueled for his honor, and Draco could not find it in himself to regret wearing a dress to his wedding rather than a suit.

It was simpler than most, but fine. His mother had taken into account his and his alpha’s preferences. Typical of a traditional masculine omega dress, it was sewn in smooth lines, accentuating his wide shoulders, then narrowing into his hips before expanding into a full skirt. Apparently, his mother was no longer concerned that Rose would back out of the marriage, because his dress went all the way up to his neck and modestly covered his entire back and arms. A fur cloak, currently unworn, lay flung over a chair-back. Although Draco preferred silver, Rose favored gold, so his earrings and circlet were golden to match her cufflinks and buttons. It was important to show unity. After all, the wedding was not just a wedding, but also a show. There was nothing around his neck. That would come later.

He heard a soft knock on the door, and before he even turned around his father had entered without asking. He looked splendid in his new suit, like the father Draco remembered from his childhood. There was a faraway, dulled look in his eyes, however, and Draco suspected that in his mind he was still in the world of the past, and expected to wake up any second. “Draco, you have a few minutes left. Before I’m to walk you down the aisle.”

“Father. You look well…” Draco exaggerated for his father’s sake. He looked lost. But Draco was an omega now, and he could get away with things that alphas could not. For example: “Will you give me a hug, now, before the ceremony?”

Lucius Malfoy froze, as if incapable of even processing Draco’s request. But Draco felt stronger and more assured now than he had in years, so he approached his father, curled his arms around him, and pressed his face against his father’s shoulder.

Slowly, incrementally, he thawed and reciprocated, until he was holding on so tightly that Draco struggled to breathe. “Draco, there’s a fireplace right here, and I have floo powder in my interior pocket. I could—”

Draco smiled against his father’s coat. “Thank you, Father, but _no_.”

“Give the word at any time, and I will have her killed in her sleep.”

Draco laughed, muffled.

His father swallowed, audibly. “The Dark Lord—Riddle—he threatened to have you raped, and I allowed him to eat at our table, sleep under our roof, and I blamed you.” His father’s arms, impossibly, tightened further. “And now I am selling you off—”

“Did you love Mother, when you were married?”

Lucius paused for a moment. “I almost don’t remember. You know our marriage was arranged. I was, well… I remember focusing my efforts on making sure that nothing went awry.”

“Do you think Rose is nervous, too?”

“She would do well to be terrified. I mean it, Draco. One word…”

Draco shook his head, smiling. “I will adjust. That’s what Mother told me omegas do. For all three of us. And I think I have the chance to be happy, with Rose.”

The sound of a wedding march filtered through the door, and his father looked miserably in its direction. “Then I suppose you should take my arm.”

* * *

Draco had been shocked when he realized how many wizards had accepted his family’s invitation to their wedding, especially given only a week’s notice. But then, it was a historic occasion-- the fall of the Noble House of Black. Anyone that would have been considered notable enough to invite to his wedding just a few years ago was not there; they were either dead, in Azkaban, or had refused to attend. Instead, low-ranking purebloods and half-bloods in relevant Ministry posts tittered to each other quietly. None of them cared about Draco. They were here to watch the show. While Draco didn’t necessarily wish for them to be there, it was better for the Malfoy family to be hated than to be irrelevant.

On Rose’s side of the aisle, the Ministry only allowed muggles categorized as “immediate family” to attend wizarding weddings, so Sylvia and Fritz took the two best seats. Draco avoided Fritz’s gaze. He wasn’t sure whether he would receive an evil eye or a conspiratorial glance. It mattered little, now. Fritz would just have to learn to like him. Behind them, the Weasleys took up two and a half rows, not just due to the fact that they bred like _rabbits_, but also seemed to have a collective habit of pulling things out of their pockets, fiddling with them, pulling them apart and scattering bits of spell-paper, candy wrappers or fiddly bits of metal on their seats in a small radius around their persons.

The gardens were awash with white roses, hyacinths and snapdragons, and bunches of white blooms so filled the trees that the branches seemed to groan under their weight, all in defiance of the chill weather and the light coating of snow over the estate. Thanks to magic and the money that could buy it, Draco had the best of both a spring and winter wedding. The Malfoys had declined to write in their invitation that the wedding would be outdoors, so that only those close to the couple in question knew to wear coats, and everyone else simply shivered uncomfortably. Draco took great pleasure in this.

Rose, herself, refused to wear a wizarding cloak, much to Lucius’ chagrin, but had made the concession of dark-green accents on her tailcoat. In addition, it was the first time that Draco had even seen her in a suit properly clean and pressed, and he found that he was proud to walk down the aisle towards her. After all, if Draco was going to marry “down,” he may as well do it _sensationally_. She would look rakishly handsome in their wedding announcement in the _Daily Prophet_, and news of her and Goyle’s duel would continue to spread. Draco expected that more than a few other pureblooded omegas would lie awake at night, imagining some forbidden Rose Gibson-lookalike to sweep them off of their feet. Draco took great pleasure in this, as well.

He arrived, and his father’s arm disappeared. Draco did not turn to look back, nervous both at what it would communicate to their audience, and at losing the courageous internal momentum that he had maintained since his and Rose’s collective victory in the duel. Instead, he looked at his fiancée and smiled wanly, and she smiled back and held out a hand while the officiary began to speak.

Draco sent her a look that said _I’m perfectly capable of getting married without an alpha holding my hand. _

Rose mouthed back a reply—_For me._

Draco took her hand, and she squeezed his tightly, as if everything else in the world was spinning about them uncontrollably, as if he were the only solid buoy in an ocean of confusion. And so Draco allowed himself the weakness, just for those moments before they sealed their fate in the eyes of decency, common law, and Rose’s unlikely God, to hold on to her just as tightly.


End file.
